A  MAN    WITHOUT 
A  MEMOIR 

BY 
WILLIAM  HENRjr  SHELTON 


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LIBRARY   OF    THE    COMMANDERY    OF 
THE  STATE  OF  MASSACHUSETTS  MILITARY 
ORDER   OF  THE   LOYAL  LEGION  OF  THE 
UNITED  STATES 

CADET  ARMORY,    BOSTON 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


/3-i: 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arcliive 

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A  Man  Without  a  Memory 

And  Other  Stories 


A  Man  Without 
a  Memory 

And  Other  Stories 


BY 

WILLIAM   HENRY  SHELTON 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1895 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


TROW  OIREOTORT 

PRINTma  AND   eOORBiriDINij  COMP*Ny 

NEW  YORK 


To 
My  Dear  Friend 

Mrs.  Louis  Livingston  Seaman 

who  more  than  any  other  is 

interested  in  its  publication,  this  book 

is  lovingly  dedicated 

January  21,  1895 


CONTENTS 


PACK 


A  Man  without  a  Memory,     ....  / 

The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree, 

{Born  Greenleaf), 5/ 

Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy,      .     .     .  loi 

The  Missing  Evidence  in  "  Tl?e  People 

vs.  Dangerking," I2y 

"  The  Demented  Ones," 18) 

The  Horses  that  Responded,   .     .     .     .  21  ^ 

"  Lights  Out !  'Lii'beth  Rachael,"  .     .  229 

The  Widow  of  the  General,     ....  24^ 

The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners,  .  26 y 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


A  MAN  WITHOUT  A  MEMORY 


I  WAS  so  completely  at  a  loss  about  the 
points  of  the  compass  that  while  the  sun 
was,  perhaps,  three  hours  above  the  horizon  on 
my  right  hand,  I  had  no  means  of  judging  wheth- 
er the  time  were  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning 
or  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I  was  seated 
alone  in  a  rickety  old  buggy,  driving,  or  at 
least  holding  the  reins  over  a  horse  evidently 
weak  with  age,  whose  only  possible  gait  was 
a  walk,  except  when  at  the  foot  of  a  hill  his 
weakness  yielded  for  a  space  to  the  pressure 
of  the  wagon  and  he  fell  into  a  listless  trot, 
which  presently  subsided  into  the  original 
walk.  Where  I  had  come  from,  or  whither 
I  was  going,  or  where  or  how  I  had  come  into 
possession  of  the  nondescript  equipage,  were 
alike  unknown  to  me.  The  heat  of  the  sun 
warmed  me  comfortably.  The  fields  had  an 
agreeable  smell,  and  the  oppressive  stillness  in 
which  one  of  the  wheels  of  the  wasron  creaked 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


mournfully,  and  the  hoofs  of  the  old  horse 
paddled  the  dusty  road  with  shuffling  beats, 
filled  me  witli  a  vague  surprise,  as  if  I  had  just 
awakened  from  a  dream  of  turmoil,  and  had 
but  half  awakened  at  that,  because  I  seemed  to 
dimly  realize  that  I  was  not  yet  in  the  full  pos- 
session of  my  normal  faculties. 

I  was  scarcely  more  ambitious  than  the  horse 
which  was  drawing  me.  A  vague  idea  that 
mine  was  a  case  of  suspended  animation  began 
to  take  hold  on  my  mind.  How  else  could  I 
account  for  my  possession  of  the  horse  and 
wagon,  and  for  my  mysterious  surroundings  ? 
The  only  moving  object  in  sight  was  a  carriage 
behind  me,  which  I  could  see  contained  two 
men,  whose  horse  was  making  no  better  time 
than  my  own.  The  approach  of  the  two  men 
had  no  interest  for  me.  I  was  struggling  too 
hard  to  grasp  myself.  It  was  my  recollections 
of  the  events  which  seemed  to  be  last  past, 
now  growing  rapidly  more  distinct,  that  were 
helping  me  to  re  -  establish  my  identity.  My 
eye  fell  on  my  left  shoe,  from  which  the  sole 
was  torn  away  at  the  toe,  and  straightway  I 
remembered  that  the  morning  before  I  had 
struck  it  on  a  sharp  stone  imbedded  in  the 
road  ;  but  then  I  had  been  marching  with  my 
companions  with  a  gun  on   my  shoulder,  we 


RBC 
NcU 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


had  just  passed  at  a  swinging  step  through  the 
long  street  of  a  village.  I  remembered  the 
houses  of  stone  and  hewn  logs  standing  close 
on  the  road,  with  closed  doors  and  blinds,  the 
cheering  of  the  men  belonging  to  other  divis- 
ions who  were  lounging  on  the  rough  flagging 
behind  their  stacked  muskets  as  we  swung  by, 
the  crowds  of  officers  and  the  ranks  of  held 
horses  which  choked  the  public  square  in  front 
of  the  brick  building  where  army  head-quar- 
ters had  been  established. 

Then  I  remembered  how,  without  a  moment's 
rest  or  refreshment,  we  had  been  pushed  to  the 
front,  to  re-establish  a  yielding  line.  I  could 
feel  again  the  cold  chill  that  ran  through  my 
hair  as  the  first  rifle  balls  whistled  with  a  hot, 
spiteful  sound  past  my  ears,  and  then  the  excite- 
ment and  exaltation  when  time  flew  with  such 
unaccountable  rapidity  that  a  day,  in  passing, 
shrank  to  the  dimensions  of  an  hour  ;  while  in 
recollection  it  was  fraught  with  incidents  suffi- 
cient to  crowd  a  week,  when,  however  you  may 
account  for  it,  early  morning  stumbled  over 
midday  without  any  perceptible  interval  be- 
tween, and  you  suddenly  found  yourself  fam- 
ished and  fell  to  eating  with  one  hand  in  your 
haversack,  and  the  other  on  your  rifle.  I  re- 
membered that  on  this  morning,  which  should 

5 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


have  been  yesterday,  I  had  been  doing  all  these 
things — fighting,  running,  shouting,  building 
up  small  granite  ledges  into  breast-works,  dimly 
conscious  of  the  dead  and  wounded  on  every 
hand.  The  roar  of  artillery  and  musketry  had 
been  deafening,  and  the  pungent  sulphurous 
smoke  rolled  in  white  clouds  along  the  crests  of 
the  fields,  and  rose  like  steam  from  the  standing 
corn,  hot  and  stifiingto  breathe.  How  vividly 
the  awful  scenes  surged  up  in  my  mind  !  Where 
had  I  slept  since  ?  I  remembered  that  we  had 
rallied  and  charged  across  the  open ;  what  an 
intense  relief  I  felt  when  the  regiments  had 
leaped  down  into  a  sunken  road,  and  we  took 
refuge  behind  the  opposite  bank.  I  could  see 
the  appealing  eyes  of  the  wounded  boy  lying 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  smoking  grass,  at  whose 
body  the  rushing  line  had  parted  and  closed 
again.  I  was  panting,  grimy  and  perspiring, 
against  the  gravelly  bank.  A  thorn  -  tree 
spread  its  branches  above  my  head,  and  the 
earth  beneath  me  was  strewn  with  green  boughs, 
as  if  a  tempest  had  been  raging  there.  Through 
the  rails  of  the  low  fence,  I  saw  a  shattered  gun 
limber  with  one  mangled  horse  leaning  against 
the  pole,  his  mates  and  masters  heaped  on  the 
ground  about  him — the  whole  group  cut  sharp- 
ly against  the  sky. 

6 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


I  remembered  how  crowded  we  were  in  that 
narrow  lane,  and  how  grateful  we  felt  for  the 
rest  and  protection  it  afforded  us  in  our  exhaus- 
tion, as  if  we  had  been  a  great  suffering  body 
suddenly  relieved  of  intense  pain  ;  then  how 
the  drowsy  sense  of  security  was  rudely  dashed 
by  the  awful  scream  of  a  shell  which  came 
swelling  from  the  front — hissing,  rushing,  roar- 
ing until,  as  it  passed  above  the  fences  over  our 
heads,  it  sounded  like  the  flight  of  a  steam- 
engine  through  the  air.  The  cannoneers  who 
were  sending  us  these  spiteful  compliments  from 
the  crest  of  a  distant  hill,  were  beyond  the  reach 
of  our  rifles.  If  we  looked  over  the  bank  we 
could  see,  at  intervals,  a  puff  of  white  smoke 
against  the  rim  of  the  woods,  and  a  hot  flash  of 
fire  bursting  through  the  small  white  cloud,  fol- 
lowed by  a  dull  report,  and  then  the  screaming 
crescendo  of  the  oncoming  shell  which  culmi- 
nated above  our  heads,  and  then  died  away  be- 
hind us.  Once  a  shell  burst  in  front  of  our 
position,  a  cloud  of  dust  floated  over  us,  and  a 
shower  of  leaves  and  branches  fluttered  down 
from  the  thorn-tree  over  my  head. 

I  remembered  how  we  laughed  and  made 
light  of  this  grim  annoyance,  and  felt  a  renewed 
security  in  our  natural  earthwork,  and  counted 
with  glee   the  splintered   places  on  the  board 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


fence  behind  us.  I  remembered  the  first  inti- 
mation of  the  attack  of  the  infantry,  coming  in 
the  form  of  a  thin  skirmish  fire  puffing  from  the 
crest  in  front — the  balls  pattering  on  the  fences 
— then  the  dark  line  rising  above  the  ridge, 
with  flags  and  glittering  bayonets  —  and  then 
the  onrush  and  the  wild  cheering  —  and  then 
how  we  reserved  our  fire  until  they  were  close 
upon  us — and  how  the  line  withered  and  broke 
under  that  smoking  volley,  leaving  the  wounded 
scattered  on  the  hill,  and  how  they  came  again 
and  again  only  to  be  rolled  back,  covering  the 
hill  thicker  and  thicker  with  the  dead — how 
we  cheered  and  yelled  and  leaped  on  the  fences 
at  each  bloody  repulse — and  how  some  of  the 
wounded  almost  crawled  to  the  shelter  of  our 
fence. 

I  remembered  how  steadily  they  formed  for 
the  last  charge  just  beyond  the  smoking  weeds, 
in  full  view  and  in  close  range  from  our  secure 
position,  and  how  we  laughed  and  jeered  and 
admired  them,  and  held  our  fire  to  give  them  a 
fiercer  welcome  than  ever  when  they  should 
come.  Everything  I  saw  and  everything  I 
thought  in  those  critical  moments  seemed  to  be 
burned  into  my  inemory.  The  familiar  device 
of  the  old  flag  with  the  red  stripes  and  blue 
field  of  stars,  on  which   that   broken  line    was 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


dressing,  carried  me  back  to  the  days  when  I 
had  cheered  it  and  sang  to  it,  as  enthusiastical- 
ly as  I  now  jeered  it  and  cursed  its  upholders 
through  the  powder-blackened  rails  of  the  fence, 
and  across  the  belt  of  smoke  and  fire  which 
smouldered  in  the  dry  turf  of  the  bank. 

Just  as  they  started  with  a  cheer,  a  gust  of 
hot  air  swept  the  smoke  in  our  faces,  and  im- 
pelled little  tongues  of  flame  to  leap  up  and 
consume  solitary  dry  weeds,  and  simultaneously 
we  heard  a  blast  of  bugles  from  the  right,  and 
saw  an  awful  vision  of  whirling  horses  gallop- 
ing and  turning  in  a  cloud  of  dust  at  the  end 
of  that  sunken  road.  The  sunlight  flashed  on 
brazen  guns  and  polished  tire,  and  the  bobbing 
heads  of  the  drivers,  as  they  lashed  their  teams 
to  the  rear,  passed  and  repassed  each  other  like 
figures  in  a  fiendish  dance.  I  remembered  that 
instant  of  horror  which  impelled  some  to  spring 
on  the  banks  and  fences,  regardless  of  the 
charging  infantry,  and  completely  paralyzed 
the  faculties  of  others  —  the  mingled  cries  of 
warning  and  reproach — a  glaring  burst  of  flame 
— a  deafening  roar,  a  benumbing  concussion 
which  for  an  instant  made  my  head  fill  all  space, 
and  along  with  it  a  sickening  sensation  of 
drowning  in  the  air,  and  then  darkness. 

In  the  next  instant,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  my 
9 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


eyes  opened  dimly  on  a  great  field  hospital.  It 
was  chill  night,  and  men  with  lanterns  were 
moving  to  and  fro  along  the  lines  of  wounded, 
and  in  and  out  of  the  lighted  farm  buildings. 
Ambulances  were  unloading,  fires  were  burning, 
men  were  moaning,  laughing,  cursing,  cooking 
— I  smelt  the  fragrant  odor  of  coffee  and  frying 
meat.  I  saw  men  with  pale  begrimed  faces  sit- 
ting up  in  the  glare,  exchanging  canteens  and 
wetting  bandages.  I  heard  moaning  and  talk- 
ing behind  my  head  and  the  shifting  of  restless 
bodies  on  the  straw.  Just  before  me  I  saw  the 
active  figures  of  surgeons  working  over  lighted 
tables.  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  all  this,  but 
without  the  power  to  speak  or  move.  I  could 
only  see  those  objects  which  came  within  the 
radius  of  my  limited  vision,  and  the  firelight 
shining  up  into  the  branches  of  the  tall  trees, 
and  the  quivering  stars  in  the  dark  heavens  be- 
yond, were  more  directly  before  my  eyes.  The 
men  stretched  close  about  me  were  utterly  si- 
lent. I  heard  the  wind  soughing  in  the  tree- 
tops  and  the  tinkling  of  water  in  the  spring- 
house  sounding  through  groans  and  imprecations, 
and  for  once  I  seemed  to  hear  with  my  parched 
tongue  instead  of  with  my  ears.  Outside  the 
tantalizing  tinkling  of  that  water  going  to 
waste,  I  seemed  scarcely  interested  in  what  was 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 

going  on  about  me,  and  even  to  that  I  became 
more  and  more  indifferent.  A  delightful  leth- 
argy soothed  my  limbs  and  faculties.  I  was 
like  one  conscious  of  falling  asleep. 

The  attendants  from  the  tables  brought  an- 
other body  and  laid  it  down  beside  me.  I  knew 
that  I  lay  in  a  row  of  such  ;  I  was  indifferent. 
The  men  retired  whence  they  came,  the  busy 
surgeons  vanished,  the  firelight  died  out  in  the 
tree-tops,  the  twinkling  stars  paled  in  the  heav- 
ens beyond,  the  tinkling  water  sounded  farther 
and  farther  away,  as  if  the  spring-house  had 
been  retreating  up  the  hill— and  darkness  en- 
veloped me  again. 

I  had  shut  my  eyes  to  recall  this  vision,  and 
presently  they  reopened  on  the  jogging  horse 
and  the  sunlit  road,  and  I  experienced  the 
sensation  of  relief  that  comes  to  one  awaking 
from  a  frightful  dream.  The  dry  hub  was 
creaking  as  before,  and  the  jingling  bolts  and 
rattling  thills  had  a  delightfully  reassuring,  even 
a  musical  sound.  I  alighted  and  walked  around 
my  turnout.  It  was  dilapidated  surely,  and 
muddy  as  country  vehicles  are  apt  to  be.  I 
had  not  thought  of  my  gun  before,  but  to  my 
inexpressible  relief  the  barrel  of  a  musket  pro- 
truded from  the  boot,  lying  sofdy  across  a  coil 
of  blanket.  I  recognized  neither  of  these  prop- 
II 


A  Mail  without  a  Memory 


erties  as  my  own ;  even  my  belt  and  cartridge- 
box  had  a  strange  look,  but  these  equipments 
might  have  been  changed  in  hospital  or  supplied 
to  me  after  my  recovery.  I  certainly  had  re- 
covered. The  recollection  of  the  fragment  of 
shell  which  had  struck  my  head  in  the  sunken 
road  came  vividly  to  mind,  and  I  instinctively 
plucked  off  my  Jiat  and  passed  my  other  hand 
softly  over  that  part  of  my  scalp  where  I  thought 
the  wound  should  be.  I  rather  expected  to  feel 
a  mass  of  clotted  hair,  but  instead  my  fingers 
brushed  over  a  surface  as  smooth  and  polished 
as  ivory  ;  but  there  was  indeed  a  tender  place. 
The  surgeons  had  shaved  my  head  in  the  proc- 
ess of  recovery.  I  must  have  been  insensible 
for  a  considerable  time. 

The  old  gray  horse  was  stamping  his  feet 
and  shaking  his  headstall  at  a  green  fly  which 
was  buzzing  about  his  withers,  and  he  had 
whisked  the  reins  into  the  road  while  I  had 
been  examining  the  wagon.  The  harness  had 
high,  rusty  hames  and  a  saddle  surmounted 
with  square,  tarnished  german  -  silver  turrets, 
and  was  altogether  as  antiquated  as  the  wagon. 
It  was  all  beyond  my  understanding,  and  the 
two  men  following  me  in  the  carriage  had  been 
halted  all  this  time,  in  the  most  exasperating 
way. 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


I  had  but  one  desire,  which  was  prompted 
by  my  sense  of  duty  in  the  matter  of  returning 
promptly  to  my  regiment.  In  that  respect  my 
conscience  would  be  satisfied,  if  only  I  used 
my  best  endeavor  to  return  ;  so  I  gathered  up 
the  reins  and  took  my  seat  in  the  wagon,  and 
the  old  horse  cheerfully  resumed  his  walk. 
My  late  experience  with  my  command  had 
been  so  terrible,  that  I  was  forced  to  admit 
to  myself  the  relief  I  felt  in  my  present  peace- 
ful surroundings  and  comfortable  style  of 
marching. 

The  sun  on  my  right  hand  was  lower  than 
when  I  had  first  noticed  it.  It  was  certainly 
declining.  That,  then,  was  the  west,  and  I 
was  driving  into  the  south.  I  preferred  to 
drive  south.  I  felt  some  surprise  at  the  warnith 
of  the  evening,  but  everything  was  disjointed 
and  surprising.  In  front  of  me  was  a  broad 
wheat-field  where  the  yellow  bundles  lay  thick 
in  the  stubble  between  the  strips  of  green 
oats,  and  at  the  farther  end  men  and  boys  were 
gathering  the  sheaves  into  stacks.  How  could 
this  be,  when  yesterday  had  been  September  ? 
Alongside  this  field  was  another  field  of  young 
corn,  its  dark-green  stalks  not  yet  tassled  out. 
Yesterday  the  ears  had  been  hard  as  flint,  and 
long  past  roasting.      I  could  endure  this  com- 

13 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


plication  of  mysteries  no  longer.  I  would  stop 
and  consult  the  men  in  the  carriage  behind 
me.  When  I  stopped,  they  halted  again  as 
before.  I  started  back  on  foot,  leaving  my 
wagon  in  the  road.  Seeing  this,  the  carriage 
came  on  at  a  trot  until  it  reached  my  position, 
when  it  slackened  to  a  walk  as  it  reined  out  to 
pass  me.  The  two  gentlemen  stared  at  me  in 
a  most  remarkable  way,  bowed  solemnly,  and 
would  have  passed  without  a  word,  if  I  had 
not  begged  them  to  tell  me  where  the  road  led 
to.  "The  very  question  we  were  about  to 
ask  you,"  said  the  one  who  held  the  reins,  and 
then  the  two  exchanged  glances.  After  they 
had  passed  me,  they  threw  up  the  top  of  the 
carriage,  and  I  had  no  doubt  they  were  watch- 
ing me  through  the  oval  window  in  the  back 
curtain. 

I  felt  a  conviction  that  I  must  be  in  the 
enemy's  country.  The  carriage  drove  on  at  a 
brisk  pace,  but  somehow  it  never  quite  disap- 
peared from  my  view  ;  or  if  it  did  sink  into  a 
depression  or  pass  behind  a  clump  of  trees,  it 
presently  reappeared,  going  on  as  before. 
Once  I  saw  the  head  of  the  driver  thrust  out- 
side the  leather  top,  apparently  to  speak  to  a 
friend  who  was  passing  in  my  direction  on 
foot.     The  man   halted   a  moment   and   then 

14 


A  Mail  without  a  Memory 


came  on.  He  was  evidently  a  young  farmer 
returning  from  work,  for  he  carried  a  cradle  on 
his  left  shoulder,  his  right  hand  grasping  the 
back  of  the  scythe-blade  which  swept  diagonal- 
ly around  his  right  hip.  As  he  approached 
nearer,  I  observed  with  satisfaction  that  his 
face  wore  a  pleasant  quizzical  smile.  "Can 
you  tell  me,"  I  said,  and  at  the  sound  of  my 
voice  my  horse  ceased  to  walk  ;  "  can  you  tell 
me  where  this  road  leads?  " 

His  smile  broadened  to  a  grin  ;  his  right 
hand  left  the  scythe-blade  to  tilt  his  wool  hat 
forward,  until  I  could  just  see  his  eyes  glitter 
underneath  the  brim. 

*'  When,  in  the  name  o  Gord,''  he  cried, 
"  did  you  come  to  life,  Tonn  Johnson  ?  " 

I  was  staggered  at  what  the  man  said,  but  I 
was  more  angered  at  his  insolence. 

"You  haven't  answered  my  question,"  I 
roared,  half  starting  from  my  seat,  at  which  the 
old  horse  resumed  his  walk  as  if  I  had  spoken 
to  him,  and  the  man,  with  the  same  exasperat- 
ing smile  on  his  face,  shouted  "  Good-by, 
Torm.  The  road  leads  to  the  river  if  you  go 
far  enough." 

I  had  not  thought  of  myself  as  Tom  John- 
son, and  yet  that  was  my  name.  Strange  to 
say,  my  mind  had   not  gone  back  of  the  ab- 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


sorbing  events  of  the  battle.  I  had  thus  far 
only  considered  ni3^self  as  a  convalescent  sol- 
dier returning  to  his  regiment,  which  I  seemed 
to  have  left  but  yesterday.  A  longer  time 
must  have  elapsed,  for  the  seasons  had  changed 
— they  had  even  gone  backward  in  the  most 
perplexing  way.  I  passed  my  fingers  again 
over  the  tender  spot  on  my  head  and  across 
the  polished  surface  above. 

Tom  Johnson  !  My  name  came  to  me  like 
a  revelation,  as  if  its  familiar  sound  had  not 
fallen  on  my  ears  for  ages,  and  at  the  same 
time  it  connected  me  with  a  past  to  which  I 
wished  to  return  even  more  than  to  my  regi- 
ment. It  brought  to  me  the  picture  of  my 
young  wife,  standing  at  the  entrance  to  the 
drive  which  led  back  to  our  home,  and  beside 
her,  little  Tom  crowing  in  his  old  mammy's 
arms.  I  had  fallen  out  of  the  dusty  ranks  to 
kiss  her  tearful  face  and  the  rosy  mouth  of 
baby  Tom,  and  that  had  been  only  the  day 
before  the  battle.  Alec,  the  third,  sat  erect 
on  the  hammer  -  cloth,  holding  the  reins 
over  the  coach-horses  behind,  and  completing 
the  family  group.  I  remembered  his  familiar 
voice  calling  after  me  : 

"  Take  keer  yo'sef,  Marse  Torm." 
My  mind  had  burrowed  back,  at  last,  to  the 
i6 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


centre  of  my  world — to  the  mainspring  and 
motive  of  my  patriotic  action.  Through  the 
dust  of  the  column,  to  which  I  was  obliged  to 
return  hastily,  for  we  were  advancing  to  give 
battle  to  the  enemy  and  straggling  was  only 
permitted  to  those  who  fell  from  exhaustion — 
I  waved  a  last  farewell  to  the  group  of  loved 
ones  whose  defence  made  my  service  a  holy 
crusade.  My  State  was  my  country,  and  my 
country  was  the  sky  above  and  the  earth  under- 
neath the  feet  of  that  sacred  life  which  had 
given  itself  to  me,  and  that  other  wonderful  life 
to  which  our  lives  had  given  being.  I  was  the 
defender  of  a  hearthstone,  the  champion  of  a 
gentle  mother-spirit,  whose  innermost  thoughts 
I  had  shared  and  whose  prayers  for  my  cour- 
age and  safety  were  constantly  ascending  like 
incense — and  of  a  small  unconscious  life  which, 
even  if  I  fell,  would  live  on  to  call  my  memory 
blessed. 

Where  was  my  regiment  ?  I  felt  a  sort  of 
frenzy  to  regain  that  post  of  duty.  What  vic- 
tories had  my  comrades  won  in  my  absence  ? 
A  sense  of  shame  overcame  me  that  I  should 
be  crawling  along  over  that  peaceful  country 
road,  lulled  to  indifference  by  the  drowsy  in- 
fluences of  the  evening — I,  the  Defender  and 
the  Champion  ! 

17 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


A  child  was  coming  across  the  field  in  firont 
of  me,  but  before  I  had  approached  near 
enough  to  speak  to  her,  she  fled  back  as  if  I 
had  been  some  dangerous  animal.  The  car- 
riage, with  its  mysterious  occupants,  was  still 
crawling  into  the  distance.  The  moon  was 
rising  on  my  left,  for  the  sun  had  already  gone 
down  over  opposite.  The  stars  were  appear- 
ing overhead,  and  a  ruddy  light  illumined  the 
window  of  a  small  house  by  the  roadside,  to 
which  my  weary  horse  was  advancing  with  the 
old  monotonous  walk. 

The  light  from  the  window  lay  out  on  a 
toll  -  bar  which  spanned  the  turnpike.  I  in- 
stinctively put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  and 
drew  out  a  small  roll  of  bills,  which  looked 
quite  natural  and  blue  in  the  warm  firelight 
from  the  doorway.  I  was  about  to  tender  one 
to  the  woman  who  appeared,  with  a  scared 
look,  and  extended  her  hand  to  the  cord 
which  hung  from  the  pulley  before  the  door. 
"There's  nothing  to  pay,"  she  said.  The 
toll-bar  was  rising  for  my  passage. 

''Where  does  this  road  lead,  Madam?"  I 
exclaimed,  bending  eagerly  forward  to  catch 
her  reply. 

"I  am  not  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  and  the 
door  of  the  toll-house  closed  with  a  bang. 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


The  old  horse  walked  on  of  his  own  monot- 
onous will,  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  house  into 
the  moonlight.  The  dry  hub  creaked  and 
groaned  like  a  living  thing  in  agony,  and  the 
loose  bolts  and  linchpins  jingled  in  harsh  coun- 
ter-notes of  derision. 

I  was  on  the  verge  of  despair.  Was  all  the 
world  leagued  against  me  ?  Men,  children, 
and  women  avoided  me  as  if  I  was  a  leper.  I 
was  Tom  Johnson,  a  highly  respectable  citizen, 
bearing  arms  in  the  defence  of  his  country, 
hopelessly  lost  in  that  or  some  other  country, 
where  I  had  as  yet  seen  no  soldiers  or  any 
signs  of  their  recent  passage  or  occupancy. 
The  old  horse  broke  into  a  gentle  trot  along 
the  descending  grade,  as  if  it  had  some  intuition 
of  a  camp  in  advance.  Perhaps  he  was  right, 
for  lights  were  sparkling  among  the  trees  be- 
yond. There  was  something  about  the  road 
which  seemed  familiar,  and  yet  in  many  re- 
spects it  was  unlike  any  road  I  had  ever  seen 
before.  A  clump  of  oaks  crowned  the  knoll 
before  me,  and  the  walls  of  a  building  gleamed 
in  the  moonlight  through  the  tree-trunks.  It 
was  a  low,  whitewashed  church,  clean,  silent, 
deserted.  At  first  I  was  sure  I  had  been  stand- 
ing in  the  same  place  before  it  yesterday  ;  but 
there  was  no  gaping  hole  above  the  door  as 

19 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


there  had  been  then,  and  its  walls  should  be 
pitted  by  the  iron  hail.  Even  the  woods 
which  formed  a  thick  screen  behind  it  had  van- 
ished. Was  I  dreaming?  The  fields  opposite 
were  inclosed  Avith  trim,  well-kept  fences,  and 
the  hills  were  thickly  dotted  with  shocks  of 
newly  cut  wheat,  which  perfumed  the  dewy  air 
with  the  odor  of  moist  straw.  Yes,  I  must  be 
dreaming.  There  was  a  spell  of  witchery  over 
the  land — the  stars  were  not  behaving — the 
moonlight  was  certainly  playing  pranks,  for 
above  the  trees  on  the  highest  ground  to  my 
left,  the  gray  ghost  of  a  gigantic  soldier  reared 
its  huge  head  and  shoulders,  gleaming  and  im- 
movable. 

I  was  Tom  Johnson,  and  beyond  that  every- 
thing was  disjointed  and  uncertain.  I  rubbed 
my  eyes  and  looked  again  at  the  big  soldier. 
There  it  stood  as  before,  leaning  on  a  gun,  and 
so  much  as  I  could  see  of  this  figure,  or  appari- 
tion, above  the  tops  of  the  trees,  was  as  clearly 
cut  against  the  sky  as  if  it  had  been  carved  in 
stone. 

The  carriage  which  had  so  long  preceded  me 
had  finally  disappeared  among  the  trees  where 
the  lights  were  sparkling.  Much  as  I  feared 
and  distrusted  its  inmates,  I  felt  impelled  to 
follow  it  as  the  only  moving  thing  I  had  to  tie 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


to,  and  the  two  men,  whether  friends  or  ene- 
mies, seemed  in  some  way  linked  to  my  help- 
lessness. 

Presently  I  came  creaking  and  jingling  into 
a  village  street  flanked  with  stone  houses,  where 
the  moonlight  broke  so  fantastically  through 
the  trees,  gleaming  on  white  dresses  peeping 
out  of  masses  of  shadow,  and  mingling  with 
red  lights  shining  through  windows  and  doors 
onto  other  figures,  walking,  talking,  singing, 
laughing,  listening  to  or  not  heeding  the 
wheezy  notes  of  a  cracked  melodeon  on  one 
side  of  the  street  and  a  rioting  violin  on  the 
other  side — the  moonlight  everywhere  so  un- 
certain, and  so  bewildering,  and  so  mislead- 
ing that  the  faint  sense  of  familiarity  with  the 
street  eluded  me  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp;  and 
yet,  somehow,  it  seemed  that  the  soldiers  had  a 
right  to  be  there — that  the  violin  should  be  a 
bugle,  and  that  a  respectable  drum  could  give 
points  to  that  melodeon,  and  that  the  long  roll 
might  beat  at  any  moment  along  that  shadowy 
street. 

As  I  came  creaking  and  pondering  into  the 
market  square,  where  the  line  of  the  houses 
was  forced  a  little  back  to  the  advantage  of  the 
sidewalks,  or  rather  the  flagged  plaza  into 
which  those  thoroughfares  spread  out,  the  moon 


A  Man  ivithoiit  a  Memory 


poured  its  unobstructed  light  onto  the  gable 
end  of  the  very  brick  building  which  I  had 
seen  yesterday — (the  only  yesterday  I  knew) — 
gay  with  head-quarter  flags  and  glittering  uni- 
forms—  the  turf  and  flagstones  crowded  with 
restless  horses,  and  a  great  Confederate  banner 
floating  above  the  roof. 

I  was  in  Sharpsl>u?'g. 

I  leaped  out  of  the  wagon  and  seized  my  rifle 
and  coil  of  blanket.  The  long  tavern  stood 
opposite,  and  under  the  buttonwood -tree  which 
overspread  the  rough  flagging,  a  group  of  men 
lounged  in  chairs  and  on  benches,  while  a  iew 
others  could  be  seen  inside  at  the  dimly  lighted 
bar. 

' '  When  did  General  Lee  leave  here  ?  "  I 
cried,  as  if  I  had  been  summoning  the  garrison 
to  surrender.  The  battle  spirit  had  complete 
possession  of  me  for  a  moment,  and  the  butt  of 
my  gun  rang  down  on  the  pavement,  striking 
sparks  of  fire  from  the  flinty  stone. 


n 

THE  carriage  which  had  followed  Tom 
Johnson's  humble  outfit  out  of  Hagers- 
town,  passed  it  on  the  turnpike,  and  finally  pre- 
ceded it  into  Sharpsburg,  had  contained  an  em- 
inent surgeon  and  a  physician,  well  known  in 
western  Maryland.  The  two  medical  men  had 
alighted  at  the  tavern  opposite  to  the  red  brick 
building,  which  had  been  Confederate  head- 
quarters, and,  after  greeting  the  host,  had 
seated  themselves  on  a  bench  near  the  main 
entrance,  and  just  out  of  the  radiance  of  the 
oil-lamp  which  hung  over  the  bar-room  door 
and  shed  a  ruddy  light  on  the  rough  flagstones, 
even  out  to  the  feet  of  the  group  of  loungers 
under  the  buttonwood  -  tree.  The  horse  and 
carriage  had  gone  around  to  the  stables,  and 
the  reserve  of  the  medical  gentlemen  had  been 
respected  to  that  degree  that  the  only  evidence 
of  their  presence  inhered  in  two  burning  stars, 
which  gleamed  from  the  deep  shadow  thrown 
from  the  end  of  the  adjoining  building,  which 
stood  forward  on  the  line  of  the  street,  and  in 

23 


A  Mail  without  a  Memory 


the  fragrant  odor  of  the  cigars  which  the  afore- 
said medical  gentlemen  were  smoking.  The 
tavern-keeper,  having  for  the  moment  no  drinks 
to  mix,  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves  in  the  bar- 
room door,  and  stood  also  in  some  obscurity, 
as  the  bottom  of  the  big  lamp  over  his  head 
was  not  made  of  glass,  and  the  light  behind 
him  on  the  bar  Avas  of  the  dimmest  radiance, 
and  served  only  to  illumine  his  back.  The 
cool  air  of  the  evening  after  the  heat  of  the  day 
had  the  effect  of  emptying  the  grim  stone 
houses  onto  the  grim  stone  flagging  outside  the 
doors,  under  the  thick  trees  where  there  was 
sparse  light  of  an  artificial  sort,  outside  of  the 
rays  of  moonlight  which  found  their  way  here 
and  there  through  the  leafage  ;  and  this  was 
the  drowsy  condition  of  the  sleepy  old  village 
when  the  creaking  and  jingling  outfit  of  Tom 
Johnson  came  at  a  snail's  pace  up  the  street, 
the  white  horse  showing  particularly  white  as 
he  crossed  the  occasional  patches  of  moonlight, 
and  finally  came  to  a  stand  in  the  full  light  be- 
tween the  tavern  and  the  red  brick  building 
over  opposite.  The  peculiar  appearance  of  this 
singular  visitor  sufficiently  excited  the  curiosity 
of  the  villagers  to  bring  men,  women,  and 
children  trooping  up  the  street  on  both  sides 
to  the  market  square,  where  they  were  rapidly 
24 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


assembling  when  the  butt  of  Tom's  rifle  rang 
down  on  the  pavement  and  he  propounded  his 
starthng  question.  The  loungers  under  the  but- 
tonwood-tree  stood  up  in  silent  amazement,  and 
the  circling  crowd  gazed  dumbly  at  this  lonely 
and  belated  Confederate  soldier  standing  before 
them  in  his  gray  uniform  and  dusty  equipments. 

Tom  Johnson  looked  somewhat  dazed  as  he 
confronted  this  formidable  assemblage,  made 
more  formidable  to  him  by  the  unwonted 
presence  of  so  many  pretty  girls,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  had  good  reason  to  be  vexed  at 
the  staring  crowd  and  at  the  absence  of  any  re- 
ply to  his  ringing  question. 

"What  ails  you  all?"  said  he,  in  milder 
tones  than  he  had  at  first  used,  and  evidently 
in  deference  to  the  presence  of  ladies,  and  then 
turning  to  survey  the  crowd  which  completely 
encircled  him:  "  Am  I  such  a  curiosity  that 
you  can't  answer  a  civil  question?  " 

"  You  ruther  took  us  by  surprise,"  said  the 
tavern-keeper,  who  stood  in  the  front  rank  of 
the  crowd  directly  confronting  Tom. 

"You  keep  this  hotel,  I  reckon,"  said  Tom 
Johnson,  looking  straight  across  into  the  other's 
eyes. 

"That's  so,"  responded  the  tavern-keeper, 
"  there's  no  doubt  about  that." 


25 


A  Mail  -uoiiboiit  a  Memory 


"Then  please  to  tell  me  how  long  it  is 
since  General  Lee  left  this  town  ?"  and  Tom 
paused  impressively  for  the  expected  answer. 

"  Well,  I'll  have  to  figure  a  httle,"  said  the 
tavern-keeper,  scratching  his  head.  "  Let  me 
see;  it's  '92  now.  Well,  I  reckon  it'll  be 
thirty  years  next  September  since  he  pulled  out 
o'  this  town." 

Tom  Johnson  was  staggered  for  a  moment 
by  the  wildness  of  tlie  tavern-keeper's  mendac- 
ity, and  then  his  face  flushed  several  shades 
redder  than  it  had  been  in  the  lamplight. 

"  You  are  the  most  monumental — beg  your 
pardon,  ladies,"  said  Tom,  glancing  around, 
"  I  won't  say  what  he  is.  I  reckon  he's  been 
drinking  too  much  of  his  own  liquor." 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  said  the 
tavern-keeper,  taking  Tom's  implication  in 
excellent  part. 

"I  came  from  hospital,"  said  Tom  John- 
son, with  a  shade  of  helplessness  in  the  tones 
of  his  voice. 

"  What  hospital?  "  said  the  tavern-keeper. 

Tom  Johnson  was  forced  to  admit  that  he 
did  not  know,  and,  moreover,  he  didn't  know 
when  or  how  he  came  in  possession  of  the 
horse  and  wagon  which  still  stood  in  the  road 
where  he  had  left  them.  He  said  that  he  had 
26 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


had  some  trouble  with  his  head,  and  with  that 
he  took  off  his  hat  so  that  the  lamplight  fo- 
cussed  on  his  baldness,  and  ran  his  fingers  ab- 
sently over  the  polished  surface  in  seardi  of 
the  soft  spot. 

"  Take  that  white  horse  around  to  the 
stable,"  said  the  tavern-keeper  to  the  hostler, 
"and  lock  him  up."  And  then  addressing 
Tom:  "Don't  you  reckon  you'd  better  come 
in  and  have  somethin'  to  eat,  comrade?  " 

Tom  Johnson  began  to  feel  faint  with  hun- 
ger at  the  very  mention  of  food,  and  he  was 
so  perplexed  and  mortified  at  his  inability  to 
account  for  himself  that  he  was  glad  of  any 
excuse  to  escape  from  the  crowd,  and  so  he 
followed  the  tavern-keeper  into  the  bar-room, 
while  the  villagers  surged  up  to  the  door  and 
the  open  windows.  He  walked  directly  across 
to  the  bar  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  bottles. 

"Hand  me  that  decanter  of  brandy,"  he 
said,  as  he  leaned  his  gun  against  the  wall, 
and  ran  his  fingers  once  more  over  his  bald 
head.  After  he  had  taken  a  moderate  drink 
of  the  liquor  diluted  with  water,  he  put  his 
hand  in  his  trousers'  pocket  and  produced  the 
roll  of  blue  bills  he  had  taken  out  at  the  toll- 
gate,  and  threw  one  down  on  the  bar  with  the 
evident  satisfaction  of  a  man  who  can  at  least 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


pay  his  own  way,  if  he  is  a  httle  dazed  about 
where  he  came  from. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  the  tavern-keeper, 
picking  up  the  bill  and  turning  it  over  under 
the  lamp,  and  then  tossing  it  back.  "  Is  that 
the  kind  of  money  you  carry  ?  ' ' 

"  It's  good  enough  for  me,"  said  Tom  John- 
son, whipping  it  into  his  pocket.  "  I  don't 
carry  Federal  rags. ' ' 

The  tavern-keeper  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
own  pocket  and  drew  out  a  double  eagle  and 
rang  it  down  on  a  copper  tray  under  Tom's 
nose.  "That's  the  kind  o'  money  we  use 
around  here,"  he  said,  triumphantly. 

Tom  Johnson  felt  of  his  head,  picked  up  the 
yellow  coin,  turned  it  over  in  his  hand,  looked 
at  the  face  and  read  the  inscription,  and  then 
his  eye  fell  on  the  date.  "  It's  no  good,"  said 
he.  "Look  at  the  date  —  eighteen  hundred 
and  eighty -thr-ee.'" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  tavern-keeper. 
"  It's  nine  year  old,  but  it's  good,  and  don't 
you  forget  it." 

"It's  brass,"  cried  Tom  Johnson,  indig- 
nantly, as  he  threw  the  coin  down  on  the 
counter.  "  I  may  have  been  out  of  my  head 
for  quite  a  while — in  the  hospital — maybe  for 
weeks,  but  that's  no  reason  why  everybody 
28 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


should  be  in  a  conspiracy  to  make  game  of  me. 
I  think  you  said  supper  was  ready." 

Tom  Johnson  picked  up  his  gun  in  view  of 
the  troublous  times  and  followed  the  tavern- 
keeper  into  the  dining-room. 

Now,  this  tavern  -  keeper  had  a  beautiful 
young  daughter,  with  large  lustrous  eyes  and  a 
complexion  like  peaches  and  cream,  and  as 
soon  as  Tom  was  comfortably  seated  at  table, 
he  heard  the  musical  voice  of  this  lovely  creat- 
ure behind  him : 

' '  Would  you  wish  tea  or  coffee  ?  ' ' 

"What!"  cried  Tom.  "Why,  coffee,  of 
course.  I  haven't  tasted  coffee  in  a  year," 
and  then  he  turned  about  until  his  eye  fell  on 
the  sweet  girl-face,  which  blushed  red  under 
his  ardent  gaze. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear,"  said  Tom,  falling 
back  in  his  chair  and  raising  his  hand  to  his 
head.  "Your  daughter,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing his  host,  "  reminds  me  of  my  young 
wife.  She's  an  angel,  sir,  and  God  forgive 
me,  I  haven't  thought  of  her  or  of  the  baby 
since  I  got  out  of  that  wagon.  I  must  leave 
here  early  in  the  morning.  I  saw  her  only  a 
few  days  ago  when  we  came  this  way.  Ah,  sir, 
you  should  have  seen  her  standing  there  by  the 
road  and   that   little  rascal,  Tom.     See   here, 


29 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


old  man,  you  must  call  me  early.  I'll  find 
little  Tom  or  the  Thirteenth  Virginia  before 
night.  That's  my  regiment,  the  old  Thir- 
teenth, and  hurrah  for  old  Jack  !  " 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  you  belonged  to  the 
Thirteenth  before,"  exclaimed  the  tavern- 
keeper.  "We've  got  a  Thirteenth  man  here 
in  town.  Do  you  happen  to  remember  Pete 
Suavely  ?  " 

"Remember  Pete!"  cried  Tom  Johnson, 
pausing  for  an  instant  in  his  eager  feeding, 
"I  know  him  like  a  brother.  We  belong  to 
the  same  company.      Wounded  ?  ' ' 

"  No,"  said  the  tavern-keeper,  regarding 
his  mysterious  guest  with  a  look  of  wondering 
compassion  ;  "  there's  nothing  the  matter  with 
Pete.  Helen,"  he  continued,  turning  to  his 
daughter,  "  send  around  for  Pete  Suavely,  and 
tell  him  there's  a  friend  o'  his  wants  to  see 
him." 

Pete  Suavely  needed  no  sending  for,  as  he 
had  been  in  the  crowd  from  the  first  which  had 
welcomed  Tom  Johnson,  and  was  prominent 
in  the  bar-room  at  that  very  moment,  awaiting 
the  return  and  discussing  the  appearance  of  our 
hero  ;  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  holding  very  un- 
complimentary opinions  touching  his  sanity, 
and  his  property  rel  tions  to  the  white  horse. 

30 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


Pete  was  a  grizzled  old  veteran,  who  had  a 
museum  of  relics  in  the  basement  of  the  ad- 
joining house,  and  who,  by  virtue  of  his  long 
service  as  battle-field  guide,  affected  brass  but- 
tons and  a  nondescript  uniform,  which  might 
suggest  both  or  neither  of  the  old  armies.  He 
was  so  tall  that  he  had  to  double  himself  up 
like  a  jack-knife  when  he  descended  into  his 
curiosity  shop,  and  so  lank  and  lithe  that  it 
cost  him  no  trouble  to  accomplish  that  feat. 
Pete  Snavely,  who  stood  head  and  shoulders 
above  the  crowd  in  the  bar-room,  was  engaged 
in  conversation  with  the  doctor  and  the  sur- 
geon, alongside  the  bagatelle  table  in  the  cor- 
ner, when  the  tavern-keeper  entered,  followed 
by  Tom  Johnson,  eager  to  meet  his  companion 
in  arms. 

"  There  he  is,"  cried  the  tavern-keeper,  in- 
dicating Pete,  who  stepped  briskly  forward 
into  the  centre  of  the  room.  "That's  Pete 
Snavely,  of  the  Thirteenth  Virginia." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  Tom 
Johnson's  face,  which  was  followed  by  a  flush 
of  anger.  "What!  That  old  codger  ?  He's 
old  enough  to  be  Pete  Snavely 's  grandfather," 
and  he  struck  the  butt  of  his  gun  on  the  floor 
and  looked  Peter  over  with  an  expression  very 
much  akin  to  disgust.      "  He's  no  comrade  of 

31 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


mine.  The  Thirteenth  Virginia  was  never  ac- 
cused of  robbing  the  grave  for  recruits." 

Now,  Pete  was  good-natured  and,  moreover, 
he  beUeved  Tom  to  be  mildly  demented,  so  he 
smiled  blandly  at  the  uncomplimentary  speech 
and  surveyed  the  speaker  with  a  like  insolent 
coolness. 

"  Well,  now,  see  here,  stranger,"  drawled 
Pete,  at  length,  "how  young  do  you  allow 
yourself  to  be  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  ashamed  of  my  age,"  said  Tom 
Johnson.      "I'm  twenty-three." 

"  You're  about  the  maturest  infant  I  ever 
seen,"  drawled  Pete.  "Git  out  o'  the  way, 
boys,  and  let  the  young  gentleman  look  at 
himself  in  the  glass." 

At  this  suggestion  the  crowd  stood  aside, 
and  Tom  Johnson,  who  had  just  taken  off  his 
hat  to  pass  his  hand  over  his  head,  and  who 
was  carrying  his  gun  at  a  trail,  walked  deliber- 
ately over  to  the  looking-glass  hanging  against 
the  wall.  Those  who  stood  nearest  to  him 
said  that  his  face  turned  white,  at  first,  at  sight 
of  the  grizzled  and  bald-headed  image  reflected 
in  the  mirror,  and  then  he  flushed  red  to  the 
tips  of  his  ears,  as  with  a  curse  he  dashed  the 
glass  to  atoms  with  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle  and 
staggered  back  into  the  arms  of  Pete  Suavely. 

32 


A  Man  -without  a  Memory 


"  Never  mind  the  looking-glass,"  said  the 
physician,  who,  with  his  friend,  the  surgeon, 
had  been  a  deeply  interested  observer  of  this 
strange  meeting  between  Tom  Johnson  as  he 
was  and  Tom  Johnson  as  he  supposed  himself 
to  be.  "  Our  patient  is  a  little  over-excited," 
he  continued,  stepping  promptly  forward  and 
relieving  Pete  Suavely  of  his  burden. 

Tom  Johnson  yielded  completely  to  the  in- 
fluence of  these  men,  although  he  had  no  recol- 
lection of  ever  having  seen  them  before,  except 
when  they  had  passed  him  in  the  carriage  on 
the  road.  There  was  something  soothing  in 
the  touch  of  the  Doctor,  and  poor  Tom,  who 
had  been  dazed  and  puzzled  and  balked  at 
every  turn  since  he  had  first  discovered  himself 
in  the  wagon,  was  completely  crushed  by  this 
last  experience.  His  physical  strength  seemed 
to  have  undergone  a  complete  collapse,  until  he 
was  like  putty  in  the  hands  of  this  strange  doc- 
tor, whom  he  obeyed  like  a  child. 

"  He  must  go  to  bed  now,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"  and  have  a  good  night's  rest,"  and  to  this 
quiet  decision  Tom  Johnson  made  no  resistance, 
except  to  feebly  reach  for  his  gun,  which  had 
fallen  from  his  grasp  in  the  reaction  which  fol- 
lowed his  ebullition  of  passion. 

The   tavern-keeper  lighted  a  candle  and  led 

33 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


the  way  to  a  chamber,  where  he  remained  with 
the  Doctor  until  Tom  was  laid  safely  and  com- 
fortably in  bed.  As  the  tavern-keeper  lingered 
behind  to  fetch  the  candle,  Tom  rose  weakly  on 
his  elbow  and  called  after  him  :  "  Good-night, 
old  man  ;  don't  forget  to  call  me  early  in  the 
morning.     I  want  to  find  her  and  little  Tom." 

The  Doctor  slept  in  a  room  adjoining  and 
commanding  the  only  entrance  to  that  of  his 
singular  patient,  and  he  took  good  care  that 
no  one  should  disturb  him. 

Tom  Johnson  slept  heavily  after  his  strange 
experience,  and  when  he  awoke,  with  a  re- 
freshed and  clarified  brain,  he  began,  at  least,  to 
realize  that  he  was  no  longer  a  young  man,  and 
to  adjust  some  things,  albeit  lamely,  to  that  es- 
tablished fact ;  for  when  the  Doctor  looked  in 
on  his  patient  at  sunrise,  he  found  him  seated, 
half-dressed,  before  a  small  mirror  which  stood 
on  a  chair,  and  if  his  face  was  not  the  picture 
of  satisfaction,  he  showed  no  disposition  to  quar- 
rel with  the  image  the  glass  revealed. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  said  Tom,  help- 
lessly. "  It's  a  terrible  thing  to  grow  old  in  a 
single  night." 

"  How  old  were  you  on  the  day  you  were 
wounded?"  asked  the  Doctor,  laying  his  sooth- 
ing hand  on  Tom's  shoulder. 

34 


A  Man  without  a  Mentory 


"  I  was  twenty-three  a  few  days  ago,  when  I 
was  killed,"  replied  Tom,  looking  steadfastly  at 
the  image  of  the  old  fellow  in  the  glass. 

" And  what  year  was  that?"  continued  the 
Doctor. 

"It  was  '62,"  said  Tom  Johnson. 

"And  it  is  '92  this  morning,"  remarked  the 
Doctor,  keeping  a  steady  eye  on  his  patient. 

"  '92  !  "  exclaimed  Tom  Johnson,  looking 
hard  at  the  Doctor  and  making  a  mental  calcu- 
lation with  the  aid  of  his  fingers.  "  '92,"  he 
repeated,  looking  back  at  his  grizzled  image  in 
the  glass,  "  that  accounts  for  that  old  beggar  I 
have  been  studying  since  daylight.  But  for 
God's  sake,  Doctor,"  he  exclaimed,  springing 
to  his  feet,  "  where  have  I  been  in  that  interval 
of  thirty  years  ?  How  old  am  I  now  ?  Not 
fifty-three  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  my  friend,"  said  the  Doctor,  laying 
his  hand  on  his  patient's  arm,  which  had  the 
effect  of  soothing  him.  "You  are  fifty-three, 
and  during  that  long  interval,  dating  from  the 
day  and  hour  when  you  received  your  wound 
on  this  field,  Vou  have  been  a  man  without  a 
memory.  During  all  that  time  your  life  has 
been  to  yourself  a  blank,  and  I  must  tell  you 
at  once  that  you  owe  your  restoration  to  the 
skill  of  that  great  surgeon  whom  you  saw  in  my 

35 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


company  yesterday.  Be  calm  and  listen.  But 
for  his  skill,  which  has  relieved  your  brain  from 
the  pressure  of  the  misplaced  bone,  and  whose 
watchful  care,  through  fever  and  unconscious 
suffering,  has  brought  you  quietly  back  to  this 
scene  of  your  injury,  your  life  would  still  be  a 
blank." 

Tom  Johnson  gazed  speechless  into  the  Doc- 
tor's face  as  he  made  this  amazing  statement, 
and  then  his  unconscious  hand  stole  softly  to 
his  head. 

The  Doctor  forbore  to  break  the  silence, 
holding  his  patient  under  his  kindly  gaze. 

"  Praise  God  !  "  exclaimed  Tom  Johnson  at 
last,  rising  and  grasping  the  Doctor's  hands. 
"  You  have  brought  me  back  to  life.  You  have 
rescued  me  from  a  living  grave — Praise  God  ! 
But  where  have  I  been,  Doctor,  during  all 
these  years  ?  ' ' 

"  With  your  family  at  your  old  home,  sur- 
rounded with  every  comfort " 

"  Have  mercy,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  Tom 
Johnson,  staggering.      "  Don't  trifle  with  me." 

"You  forget,"  said  the  Doctor,  waving  his 
patient  back  into  his  chair,  "  that  you  were  a 
man  without  a  memory. ' ' 

"  And  I  was  really  there  with  her  and  little 
Tom  ?      How    is    that    precious    baby,    Tom  ? 

36 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


Tell  me  quick,  Doctor,"  and  he  was  on  his 
feet  again,  reaching  for  his  old  gray  uniform 
coat. 

"  He  is  in  China  just  now,"  replied  the  Doc- 
tor. 

"What?"  roared  Tom  Johnson,  with  one 
arm  in  the  sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"  He  is  Lieutenant-Commander  Johnson,  of 
the  navy,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  What !  That  baby  !  "  cried  Tom.  "  An 
officer  in  the  navy  !  Hurrah  !  I'm  glad  to 
hear  he  is  serving  his  country.  How  did  he 
get  there  ?  ' ' 

' '  In  the  usual  way, ' '  said  the  Doctor.  ' '  You 
sent  him  to  the  Naval  Academy  and  paid  his 
bills,  or  rather  your  money  did." 

"  Good,"  said  Tom  Johnson,  who  still  stood 
before  the  Doctor,  with  his  old  coat  half  on. 
"  I  believe  everything  you  tell  me.  Would  to 
God  I  had  another  boy  to  give  to  the  same  ser- 
vice." 

"  You  have,"  said  the  Doctor,  "and  he  is 
also  in  the  navy." 

Tom  Johnson  stared  at  the  Doctor  without 
opening  his  lips,  and  when  he  was  about  to 
speak  he  was  restrained  by  a  warning  finger. 
' '  You  are  about  to  forget  again  that  you  have 
been  a  man  without  a  memory. ' ' 

37 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


Tom  stood  in  silence  for  a  moment,  the  bet- 
ter to  grasp  the  surprising  information,  his  coat 
still  dangling  from  one  shoulder,  and  then  he 
raised  his  free  arm  above  his  head.  "Thank 
God,"  he  exclaimed,  fervently,  "  that  I  have 
two  sons  in  the  service  of  the  Confederacy,  and 
she — she ' ' 

He  had  seized  both  hands  of  the  Doctor,  and 
was  trembling  visibly  as  he  breathlessly  awaited 
a  reply. 

For  the  first  time  the  Doctor  was  silent. 

"My  wife  —  my  darling  —  where  is  she?" 
and  as  he  put  these  questions  passionately,  Tom 
Johnson  clung  desperately  to  the  strong  white 
hands  of  the  man  he  trusted,  he  knew  not  why. 

"  God  have  mercy  on  him,"  ejaculated  the 
Doctor,  fervently.  "  He  has  been  a  mati  loith- 
out  a  memory. ' ' 

"Dead!  Dead  !"  groaned  Tom  Johnson, 
dropping  the  Doctor's  hands,  and  seating  him- 
self on  the  bed.  "  Oh,  why  did  you  bring  me 
back  to  hfe?  " 

The  Doctor  sat  down  beside  his  patient  and 
put  an  arm  about  his  shoulders  to  soothe  him  as 
best  he  could.  "  It  was  years  ago,  my  dear 
fellow,"  he  began.  "She  was  a  good  wife  to 
you,  and  you  lived  long  together  in  a  happy 
home.     She  anticipated  your  every  want.     You 

38 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


lived  a  half-conscious  life  without  any  recogni- 
tion of  the  past.  Your  infirmity  was  the  only 
cross  she  had  to  bear.  You  were  constantly 
with  her  in  her  last  sickness.  You  closed  her 
eyes  with  your  own  hands,  and  you  have  often 
stood  by  her  grave,  where  the  sunset  stretches 
its  golden  bars  under  the  dark  pines.  Not 
that  you  knew  why  you  were  there,  but  she  en- 
treated Tom  with  her  last  breath  to  bring  you 
to  her  often,  and  her  one  hope  and  prayer  was 
that  some  day  you  might  come  understanding 
why  you  came."  The  Doctor  ceased  speak- 
ing. 

"  Leave  me  alone  for  a  while,"  said  his 
stricken  patient,  who  was  overcome  by  this 
first  knowledge  of  his  bereavement,  just  as  if 
he  were  standing  by  the  dead  form  of  his  be- 
loved wife,  who  had  at  that  moment  ceased  to 
breathe. 

Tom  Johnson  kept  his  room  and  would  see 
no  one  during  that  day,  even  refusing  the  food 
that  was  offered  him  ;  but  with  the  dawn  of  an- 
other morning  he  called  for  his  old  comrade  in 
arms,  Pete  Suavely,  of  the  Thirteenth  Virginia. 
When  the  latter  appeared,  towering  in  the 
doorway,  the  two  literally  fell  into  each  other's 
arms,  with  voluble  protestations  and  explana- 
tions and  apologies,  for  Pete  had  had  no  idea  at 

39 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


the  time  the  looking-glass  had  been  smashed  in 
the  bar-room  that  he  had  been  chaffering  little 
Tom  Johnson,  of  the  old  Thirteenth. 

' '  Tommy, ' '  blubbered  Pete,  as  he  held  his 
comrade  to  his  breast,  clad  in  the  sacred  old 
uniform  which  now  moved  him  to  tears,  ''  it's 
all  over  what  we  fit  for. ' ' 

Tom  Johnson  released  himself  from  the  em- 
brace of  the  weeping  giant,  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  a  terrified  expression.  "You  mean 
the  war's  over,  Pete,"  he  said,  feebly  grasping 
at  this  interpretation  of  his  comrade's  mean- 
ing. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  whimpered  Pete,  determined 
to  have  the  worst  over  with  the  least  delay. 
"  I  mean  the  Confederacy  was  busted,  turned 
down  more'n  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago — snuffed 
out  like  you  was,  Tommy,  under  that  old  thorn- 
tree — the  niggers  was  set  free,  everybody  nigh 
about  was  killed — but  by  G — ,  Tommy,  the 
way  we  fit  ag'in  odds  was  a  thing  to  be  ever- 
lastin'ly  proud  of." 

Tom  Johnson  had  fallen  back  to  a  sitting 
position  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  his  face  of  an 
ashen  pallor,  which  frightened  his  comrade  to 
see.  Pete  Suavely  partially  shut  himself  up  and 
deposited  his  knife -ship  on  a  chair  over  oppo- 
site.     "  Never  mind,  Tommy,"  he  said,  wip- 

40 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


ing  his  eyes;  "it's  all  ancient  history  now, 
and  we  did  our  level  best  with  bibles  in  our 
pockets  and  tooth-brushes  in  our  button-holes. 
The  difference  between  Blue-bellies  and  Gray- 
backs  don't  count  no  mo',  and  the  fact  is, 
Tommy,  we're  all  Yankees  now,  and  rather 
proud  of  it." 

This  unwelcome  news  coming  so  suddenly 
was  utterly  appalling  and  crushing  in  its  effect 
on  Tom  Johnson,  particularly  when  he  realized 
that  baby  Tom  and  the  son  he  had  no  recol- 
lection of  ever  having  seen,  were  actually  serv- 
ing under  the  despised  Yankee  flag.  It  made 
him  angry  to  think  that  he  himself  had  been 
living  under  its  folds  for  an  ordinary  life  time, 
unconscious  and  unprotesting,  as  if  an  unfair 
advantage  had  been  taken  of  his  peculiar  condi- 
tion, which  amounted  to  a  personal  affront.  It 
was  a  positive  relief  to  him  to  learn  that  his  be- 
loved old  commander,  Stonewall  Jackson,  had 
fallen  in  the  fore  front  of  battle,  and  had  thus 
been  spared  the  humiliation  of  conscious  de- 
feat. 

"Don't  take  it  to  heart  so,  Tommy,"  said 
Pete,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  turning  out 
the  palms  of  his  hands.  "  There  ain't  so  many 
o'  we  all  left,  and  the  kids  that's  been  born 
since  the  war,  in  one  State  o'   the  forty-four, 

41 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


could  drive  both  o'  the  old  armies  into  the  sea. 
We're  back  numbers,  Tommy,  that's  what  we 
are." 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  said  Tom  Johnson,  stand- 
ing up  and  readjusting  his  belt  over  his  old 
gray  coat.  "  I  shan't  need  this  gun  any 
more,"  he  remarked,  sadly,  as  he  drew  the 
iron  ramrod  and  rang  it  down  in  the  empty 
barrel.      "  Somebody  has  drawn  the  charge." 

Peter  Snavely,  who  had  some  new  surprise 
every  hour  for  his  old  comrade  in  arms,  took  him 
under  his  protecting  wing,  and  the  latter  gradu- 
ally put  off  his  rusty  equipments,  exchanging  his 
old  uniform  for  a  respectable  suit  of  sober  gray 
cloth,  and  it  was  quite  refreshing  to  see  him 
thus  transformed  by  dainty  linen  and  clean 
shaving,  et  cetera,  into  a  courtly  old  gentleman 
with  good  money  in  his  pocket,  and  a  gold 
chronometer  on  his  fob  ;  in  short,  put  back  ex- 
ternally in  the  well-groomed  condition  his  body 
had  been  accustomed  to  before  he  came  under 
the  hands  of  the  surgeon,  with  the  addition  of 
a  brain  as  clear  as  the  tone  of  a  Japanese  gong. 

The  two  were  always  together  (the  one  short 
and  sturdy,  and  the  other  lank  and  tall,  as  that 
President  Lincoln,  of  whom  Tom  had  had  but 
a  poor  opinion),  except  when  Mr.  Thomas 
Johnson  disappeared  for  a  few  days  to  look 
42 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


over  his  property  and  stand  by  the  grave  of 
that  wife  who  had  stood  bravely  and  lovingly 
beside  him  during  so  many  years  when  he  had 
been  a  man  without  a  memory. 

His  home  had  no  attraction  for  him,  to  be 
compared  with  the  claims  of  his  old  comrade, 
and  so  he  preferred  to  surround  himself  with 
such  comforts  as  he  could  at  the  long  tavern 
under  the  buttonwood-tree  over  opposite  the  old 
head-quarters,  where  he  could  enjoy  his  pipe 
and  his  glass  with  Pete  Snavely,  of  the  old 
Thirteenth,  and  walk  out  at  will  to  the  knotted 
and  deformed  thorn-tree  which  still  overhung 
the  fenceless  gash  in  the  fields  known  as  the 
bloody  lane. 

One  day  in  September,  namely,  the  fifteenth, 
in  the  year  of  our  Lord,  1892,  a  letter  arrived 
at  the  Sharpsburg  office  addressed  to  "  Thomas 
Johnson,  Esquire,"  and  post-marked  "New- 
port News."  Pete  Snavely  clasped  and  un- 
clasped himself  with  more  agility  than  usual, 
as  he  descended  the  stone  steps  into  the  base- 
ment museum  where  his  old  comrade  was 
smoking  his  pipe,  among  the  glass  cases  of 
shells  and  canteens  and  buttons  and  oxidized 
bullets,  in  an  environment  bristling  with  guns 
and  sabres  and  rusty  lances  of  the  John  Brown 
period.     The  letter  was  signed  "  Baby  Tom," 

43 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


who  had  steamed  into  port  from  the  Chinese 
seas,  a  full  Captain  in  the  Navy  under  orders  to 
report  at  the  navy  yard  at  Washington,  whence 
he  was  to  proceed  to  New  York  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  new  ram  Constitution,  where  he 
would  be  granted  leave  to  come  and  embrace 
his  dear  old  father,  in  his  joyful  restoration. 

Tom  Johnson,  Sr.,  wiped  the  moisture  from 
his  eye-glasses,  and  with  a  promptness  born  of 
his  military  training  ordered  Pete  Suavely  to 
pack  his  knapsack  forthwith.  "  Put  in  your 
Sunday  clothes  and  plenty  of  them,"  cried  Tom 
Johnson,  and  the  tall  comrade  had  come  so 
completely  under  the  control  of  the  short  one 
who  carried  the  check  -  book  that  he  obeyed 
without  a  question,  and  the  two  old  soldiers 
were  seated  under  the  button  wood -tree  when 
the  carriage  came  up  for  the  station. 

They  had  a  couple  of  hours  at  Hagerstown  be- 
fore the  night  train,  and  in  all  probability  Captain 
Johnson,  U.  S.  N.,  was  then  at  the  Washington 
navy  yard.  When  Pete  Snavely's  eye  fell  on  a 
long-distance  telephone  in  the  hotel  office,  he 
bribed  the  clerk  to  call  up  the  Commandant's 
quarters  and,  sure  enough.  Captain  Johnson 
was  there,  whom  Pete  informed  of  the  presence 
of  his  father  and  requested  him  to  stop  at  the 
instrument. 


44 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


"Come  this  way,  Tommy,"  roared  Pete; 
"  there's  a  man  outside  wants  to  speak  to  you 
on  the  telephone." 

Tom  Johnson  came,  but  he  had  never  seen 
or  heard  of  a  telephone,  having  been  quite  busy 
enough  during  the  last  two  months  catching  up 
with  other  things.  It  was  a  sort  of  new-fangled 
telegraph,  Pete  said,  and  showed  him  how  to 
put  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  Tom  Johnson 
handled  it  very  much  as  if  it  were  loaded,  and 
started  a  little  when  the  bell  rang  ;  but  he  fol- 
lowed Pete's  instructions  and  called  "  Hello  !  " 

*' Why,  it  echoes  back  in  this  thing,"  ex- 
claimed Tom. 

"Now,  does  it?"  said  Pete,  pushing  the 
receiver  back  to  his  ear.  "  That's  the  other 
fellow  a  hundred  miles  from  here.  Tell  him 
you  are  Tom  Johnson  and  ask  him  who  he  is." 

The  most  surprising  answer  came  back, 
which  caused  the  old  man  in  gray  to  drop  the 
receiver  and  feel  for  the  soft  spot  on  the  top  of 
his  head,  after  the  pleasant  way  he  had  of  ex- 
pressing perplexity  and  surprise. 

"  He  says  he's  Baby  Tom,  from  China  !  " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he  ought  to  know,  Tommy," 
said  Pete  Suavely.  "  He's  eatin'  fried  chicken 
with  the  Admiral  in  Washington  this  minute, 
and  you  better  ask  him  for  a  drum-stick." 

45 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


So  it  fell  out  that  father  and  son  had  a  meet- 
ing at  long  range,  in  which  everything  was 
fixed,  and  it  is  certain  that  no  telephone  before 
or  since  has  ever  heard  such  eager  ' '  helloes ' ' 
and  affectionate  "good-byes"  as  passed  each 
other  on  that  happy  occasion  ;  and  in  conse- 
quence thereof  the  Captain's  launch  with  the 
Captain  in  it  met  the  two  old  soldiers  at  the 
landing,  and  Baby  Tom  looked  so  tall  and 
bronzed  and  smart  in  his  glittering  uniform 
that  his  old  daddy  was  overcome  with  awe  and 
admiration  for  a  sixth  of  a  minute  before  the 
two  came  to  close  quarters,  to  all  of  which  Pete 
Snavely  can  testify,  for  he  clasped  and  un- 
clasped himself  during  the  functions  and  amen- 
ities incident  to  this  meeting  between  father  and 
son  with  a  rapidity  that  suggested  a  dancing-jack. 

During  all  this  time  the  new  Constitution, 
toward  which  the  copper  -  coated  launch  was 
presently  dancing  over  the  swells,  lay  out  in 
the  river  and  in  the  sunlight,  dressed  in  bunt- 
ing from  stem  to  stern,  with  four  hundred 
pairs  of  canvas  trousers  and  four  hundred  shirts 
fluttering  from  the  stays ;  and  the  deck  was 
manned  to  receive  the  new  Commander  and 
his  guests,  and  the  little  old  man  in  gray  was 
sufficiently  impressed  with  the  dignity  and  im. 
portance  of  "  Baby  Tom." 
46 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


During  their  stay  on  board  and  their  pere- 
grinations on  shore  these  two  old  veterans  saw 
more  of  the  world  and  the  sea  than  they  had 
ever  dreamed  of  before,  and  they  dined  in  such 
state  with  the  Commander  that  they  found 
themselves  drinking  bumpers  to  the  flag  before 
they  knew  it.  They  looked  through  the  wind- 
ing, oily  bore  of  the  ten  -  inch  rifle  which 
ranged  over  the  nickel-steel  prow  of  the  ram, 
and  found  the  whole  wonderful  interior  of  the 
ship  crowded  here  and  there  as  compactly 
with  delicate  machinery  as  the  case  of  a  watch, 
and  when  they  found  themselves  back  at  the 
long  tavern  under  the  buttonwood  -  tree,  with 
the  Captain  in  their  company,  they  couldn't 
forget  the  wonders  they  had  seen  or  divest 
themselves  of  the  loyalty  they  had  unconscious- 
ly put  on. 

When  Tom  Johnson  asked  the  Captain,  his 
son,  if  the  Constitution  couldn't  sink  any  bat- 
tle-ship or  any  other  ship  afloat,  the  Captain 
said  he  thought  it  might,  but  next  year  every 
battle  -  ship  would  carry  sufficient  dynamite 
tubes,  for  use  at  short  range,  to  blow  him  up 
in  a  white  cloud  at  just  fifty  yards  short  of  the 
fatal  impact  ;  and  then  he  confided  to  his 
father  that  the  steel  monsters  of  the  day  were 
at  heart  the  most  arrant  hypocrites  and  mission- 

47 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


aries  of  peace,  and  that  their  commanders 
everywhere  had  such  a  profound  and  growing 
respect  for  each  other,  that  he  had  to  laugh 
into  his  cocked  hat  sometimes  to  think  of  it. 
The  Captain  told  them,  moreover,  as  they 
smoked  their  pipes  under  the  buttonwood-tree, 
that  in  a  few  years  the  naval  attacks  would  all 
be  made  under  water,  while  the  officers  of  the 
directing  battle-ships  were  drinking  champagne 
and  watching  each  other  through  powerful 
glasses,  and  that  in  the  end  all  naval  combats 
would  be  decided  by  mathematical  computa- 
tions made  by  the  Admirals  on  shore,  to  which 
the  tavern  -  keeper,  who  had  been  bora  since 
the  battle,  said  that  things  were  certainly  com- 
ing to  a  pretty  pass. 

In  due  time,  after  father  and  son  had  stood 
together  by  the  grave  under  the  pines,  and 
talked  much  of  the  absent  son  and  brother, 
the  Captain  went  away  to  join  his  ship,  and 
things  settled  down  to  a  normal  condition  at 
the  long  tavern  under  the  buttonwood  -  tree. 
The  two  old  comrades,  the  long  one  and  the 
short  one,  may  still  be  seen  wandering  about 
the  historic  field,  and  Tom  Johnson  has  a  new 
respect  for  the  countless  dead  in  the  Govern- 
ment cemetery,  and  a  positive  affection  for 
the    big  stone   soldier   standing   silent    guard 

48 


A  Man  without  a  Memory 


above  them  (which  he  had  mistaken  for  a 
ghost  in  the  raoonUght  as  he  came  crawling 
back  into  Sharpsburg  in  the  creaking  outfit, 
behind  the  old  gray  horse),  and  which,  lean- 
ing on  its  stone  gun,  looks  complacently  out 
over  the  tree  -  tops  across  the  smiling  wheat- 
fields  to  the  whitewashed  walls  of  the  low  Dan- 
ker church  and  the  sunlit  strip  of  turnpike, 
where  the  battle  raged  so  fiercely. 


49 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs. 
Zaintree  (Born  Greenleaf ) 


THE    WEDDING    JOURNEY    OF    MRS. 
ZAINTREE  (BORN  GREENLEAF) 


QUITE  the  greatest  surprise  that  had  ever 
been  meted  out  to  the  fastidious  mem- 
bers of  the  Peter  Stuyvesant  Club  (Hm- 
ited)  befell  when  the  news  came  of  the  marriage 
of  Colonel  Zaintree  to  a  lady  of  suitable  age  and 
accomplishments,  whom,  rumor  said,  he  had  met 
in  Norway,  where  both  parties  to  the  inevitable 
had  been  engaged  in  the  innocent  pursuit  of 
the  midnight  sun.  That  so  eccentric  a  member 
of  a  close  corporation  of  bachelors  should  do 
such  a  commonplace  thing,  under  the  vulgar 
cloak  of  secrecy,  which  involved  a  hasty  return 
across  the  Atlantic  and  the  successful  avoidance 
of  his  friends,  was  regarded  by  Major  Cavendish 
and  his  right  and  left  hand  adversaries  of  the 
Colonel's  particular  table  as  nothing  less  than  a 
tricky  finesse. 

In  addition  to  the  concise  and   correct  an- 
nouncement of  the  names  of  the  two  high  con- 

53 


Tloe  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

tracting  parties  in  an  evening  journal,  there  fol- 
lowed the  surprising  statement  that : 

"  The  groom  wore  a  ten-button  frock  coat  of 
American  broadcloth,  with  a  boutonniere  of 
golden  nasturtiums  on  the  left  lapel ;  a  turn- 
down linen  collar,  silver-gray  trousers,  creased, 
with  gloves  to  match,  and  carried  in  his  hand  a 
stick  of  Irish  blackthorn,  the  gift  of  the  bride." 

Both  the  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Zaintree  had 
spent  many  summers  in  Europe,  during  which 
sojourns  (in  severalty)  they  had  explored  that 
eminently  respectable  continent  both  along  and 
beyond  the  ordinary  itinerancy.  Both  had  lis- 
tened to  the  thunder  of  Niagara ;  the  lady  had 
visited  the  wonders  of  the  Yosemite  and  the  old 
Spanish  Missions  of  Southern  California,  and 
the  Colonel  harbored  some  unpleasant  recollec- 
tions of  the  Great  Geyser  basin  in  the  Yellow- 
stone National  Park.  He  had,  in  fact,  cut  his 
name  in  the  soft  clay  of  one  of  the  minor  basins, 
contrary  to  the  Government  keep-off-the-grass 
regulations ;  and  to  make  a  salutary  example  of 
him,  the  officer  in  charge  had  telegraphed  the 
fact  to  the  captain  of  cavalry  at  the  entrance, 
and  the  Colonel  had  been  obliged  to  travel  one 
hundred  and  sixty  miles  by  stage  to  erase  his 
signature. 

Barring  these  points,  and  the  railways  neces- 

54 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 


sary  to  reach  them,  and  not  taking  into  account 
some  geographical  knowledge  the  Colonel  had 
picked  up  with  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  their 
own  country,  outside  of  a  tiny  circle  which 
should  include  Newport  and  Tuxedo,  was  a  wide 
terra  incognita. 

If  the  Colonel  was  bent  on  anything  it  was 
on  making  a  unique  wedding  journey  in  the  by- 
ways of  travel,  by  unaccustomed  means  of 
transportation,  leading  to  nowhere  in  particular, 
with  necessarily  no  feverish  anxiety  on  the  part 
of  the  travellers  to  get  there.  With  money  in 
his  purse  and  a  check-book  in  his  breast-pocket, 
and  the  hearty  approval  of  the  angel  at  his  side, 
they  were  off  for  a  romp  in  the  dark,  and  about 
the  whole  strange  business  there  was  a  delight- 
ful uncertainty,  which  was  in  itself  a  pretty  sa- 
tire on  the  element  of  uncertainty  connected 
with  the  longer  journey  upon  which  they  were 
making  simultaneous  entry  with  such  light 
hearts  and  high  hopes. 

Of  course  they  had  to  get  out  of  town  in  an 
ordinary  vestibule  train,  with  its  dreary,  glitter- 
ing vista  of  polished  mahogany  fittings,  broken 
by  staring  silver-plated  ornaments,  monogram 
glass,  nice-enough  china  dinner-service,  ebony 
waiters  in  spotless  linen,  and  the  endless  proces- 
sion of  respectables  and  fashionables,  coming 

55 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

and  going,  reading  papers,  cutting  the  leaves  of 
new  books,  and  travelling-caps  talking  offensive 
politics  with  mysterious  double  eye  -  glasses. 
The  Colonel  tweaked  his  gray  mustache  and 
swore  inwardly  there  should  be  an  end  of  it, 
and  Madam  composed  her  gloved  hands  and 
just  perceptibly  shrugged  her  well-bred  shoulders 
that  there  should  be  so  many  observers  of  her 
happiness  and  withal  such  a  wilderness  of  re- 
spectable indifference  to  it. 

After  a  dainty  breakfast  of  golden  melon  with 
water-cress,  the  freshest  of  rolls,  and  the  most 
fragrant  of  coffee,  served  on  a  little  table  be- 
tween the  high-backed  seats  in  their  own  par- 
ticular domain,  the  Colonel  tore  himself  away 
from  his  domestic  happiness  and  walked  forward 
to  enjoy  his  cigar  and  his  morning  paper.  In- 
stead of  stopping  in  the  first  smoking-compart- 
ment,  he  strolled  on  through  car  after  car  until 
he  found  a  seat  to  his  liking,  and  settling  him- 
self comfortably  before  a  window,  he  was 
straightway  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  running 
landscape  flooded  with  the  sunlight  of  his  own 
happiness.  He  forgot  his  morning  paper,  and 
even  the  small  brown  Havana  hung  unlighted 
between  his  listless  fingers.  His  misspent  life 
was  before  him,  and  the  bachelor  friends  of  his 
club,  in  their  unsuspected  misery,  were  jumbled 

56 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

with  the  fences  and  the  trees,  and  the  clouds 
were  taking  the  shape  of  some  of  the  girls  he 
remembered.  He  was  as  far  from  them  all  and 
pitied  them  as  much  as  if  he  had  suddenly  be- 
come the  emperor  of  a  continent  in  Mars. 

Presently  he  bethought  himself  of  his  cigar, 
without  forgetting  his  happiness,  and  struck  a 
match  on  the  iron  fire-dogs  in  the  hall  of  the 
Peter  Stuyvesant. 

"  Hello,  Zaintree,  going  to  Chicago  ?  " 

The  Colonel  fell  out  of  the  clouds  like  a  col- 
lapsed balloon,  with  an  indistinct  feeling  that 
he  had  been  engaged  in  something  reprehensi- 
ble. 

"  Nothing  gone  wrong,  I  hope,"  said  the 
other — "  drop  in  exchange  or  slump  in  cot- 
ton?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Ketcham,"  cried  the  Col- 
onel, shaking  his  friend  warmly  by  the  hand. 
"  Somethiiig  has  gone  overwhelmingly  right, 
and,  to  tell  you  an  open  secret,  I  have  been 
getting  married." 

"  Well,  you're  old  enough.  I  congratulate 
you.      Tickets  for  Sitka  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  said  the  Col- 
onel. "  The  tickets  are  nominally  for  Buffalo, 
but  I  can't  promise  you  we  shall  not  get  off  be- 
fore we  reach  there  and  take  a  wagon  across 

57 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

country.  I  beg  you  will  be  seated,"  continued 
the  Colonel,  laying  open  his  cigar-case,  "and 
after  we  have  talked  the  matter  over  let  me 
have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  an  old  friend  to 
Mrs.  Zaintree.  Certainly,  Ketcham,  you  are 
about  the  last  man  I  expected  to  find  ashore  in 
these  sweltering  days." 

"  If  it's  yachting  you  mean,  Colonel,  I  have 
given  it  up  for  family  reasons,"  said  the  gentle- 
man of  the  name  of  Ketcham,  who  was  of  about 
the  Colonel's  age,  having  a  smooth-shaven  face, 
large  hearty  Western  ways,  and  something  in- 
describable in  his  manner  that  hinted  of  soft 
winds  blowing  over  many  lands.  "  Wives  have 
their  limitations,  Colonel,"  continued  Commo- 
dore Ketcham.  "Mine  was  launched  without 
sea-legs,  and  when  a  captain's  first  mate  spends 
the  best  part  of  the  cruise  in  the  seclusion  of 
the  cabin,  it's  time  to  go  ashore  and  stay 
there." 

"  Naturally,"  mused  the  Colonel. 

"  So  the  Happy  Thought  is  dismantled  and 
laid  up  indefinitely.  I'm  sorry  for  it  too.  Col- 
onel;  if  she  was  in  commission  this  minute  I 
would  put  her  at  your  disposal  for  a  honeymoon 
cruise,"  and  the  ex-Commodore  of  the  Buffalo 
Yacht  Club  laid  one  hand  regretfully  on  the 
Colonel's  knee  and  snapped  the  fingers  of  the 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

other  in  vexation  at  his  sheer  inability  to  do  the 
handsome  thing. 

The  Colonel,  who  understood  his  friend 
thoroughly,  expressed  his  regrets  briefly  and 
feelingly,  knowing  that  the  situation  annoyed 
the  Commodore  like  a  belated  thought  haunt- 
ing the  memory  of  an  after-dinner  speech. 

The  two  gentlemen  now  cast  aside  their 
cigars  and  took  their  way  down  the  train,  the 
Colonel  with  a  comfortable  pride  in  a  new  and 
inestimable  possession,  and  the  Commodore  con- 
scious of  an  agreeable  curiosity  and  a  personal 
solicitude  concerning  first  impressions. 

An  hour  later  the  train  was  running  smoothly 
over  the  rails  among  the  scattered  homes  of  the 
laborers  and  market-gardeners  on  the  outskirts 
of  Rochester,  the  Commodore  seated  opposite 
to  the  bride  with  a  comfortable  feeling  that  he 
had  known  and  admired  her  indefinitely,  and  a 
keen  regret  that  circumstances  over  which  he 
had  no  control  were  about  to  separate  old 
friends  and  new. 

Mrs.  Zaintree  was  saying  the  thousand  and 
one  cordial  things  which  a  well-bred  and  kind- 
hearted  lady  knows  so  Avell  how  to  say  :  ' '  The 
Colonel's  friends  were  her  friends.  The  Com- 
modore must  certainly  dine  with  them  on  his 

59 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

very  earliest  visit  to  New  York,  and  she  should 
take  good  care  to  find  out  his  favorite  dish 
before  he  came.  She  looked  forward  to  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  his  wife,  who  was  no  sailor, 
and  it  was  so  sweet  of  him  to  give  up  the  water 
for  her  sake. ' ' 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Zaintree,"  said  the  Com- 
modore, "to  be  exact,  I  have  given  it  up  with 
a  reservation.  That  is  to  say,  the  down-town 
house  of  Self  &  Co.  has  fitted  up  a  couple  of 
cabins,  fore  and  aft,  on  the  iron  freighter  Nau- 
tilus, and  I  go  aboard  sometimes  for  a  cruise  on 
the  lake,  with  a  friend  or  two.  A  basket  of 
wine  and  a  few  brace  of  ducks  in  the  larder, 
and  a  quiet  rubber  in  the  cabin.  You  under- 
stand, Colonel?  " 

"  Why,  look  here,"  cried  the  Colonel,  "that 
eclipses  the  idea  of  the  yacht." 

"  It's  ever  so  much  jollier,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Zaintree.      "  Do  you  know,  I  sailed  on  a  Dutch 
lugger  with  fins,  like  a  great  fish,  from  Rotter- 
dam to  Ymuiden  in  the  North  Sea,  with  a  little 
party  of  English  and  Americans  last  year,  and 
it  was  the  nicest  trip  of  the  whole  summer." 
"  But  my  vessel  is  loaded  with  coal." 
"And  the  Dutch  fin-boat  carried  fish." 
"  Where  is  the  Nautilus  bound?  "  asked  the 
Colonel. 

60 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

"  There  it  is  again,"  said  the  Commodore  ; 
"unfortunately  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea. 
She  may  be  booked  for  Cleveland,  or  she  may 
be  for  Three  Mile  Harbor,  or  any  other  port 
on  the  Lakes.  The  deck-hands  swear  all  day 
and  play  the  accordion  all  night.  Cook  cuts 
the  beef  in  cubes ' ' 

"  Just  Hke  the  Rotterdam  lugger,"  broke  in 
the  lady,  with  enthusiasm,  "  and  sailing  with 
sealed  orders  too.  Not  another  word.  Com- 
modore, in  disparagement  of  the  Nautilus. 
Anything  that  is  good  enough  for  Commodore 
Ketcham  and  his  friends  is  good  enough  for 
us." 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Put 
us  on  board  the  Nautilus  by  all  means,  if  our 
presence  will  be  no  hindrance  to  the  business 
of  the  vessel." 

"  Not  an  atom,"  cried  the  Commodore, 
whose  hand  was  already  on  his  travelling-bag, 
with  none  too  much  time  to  make  his  South- 
bound train.  "  I'll  telegraph  the  office  to 
hold  her  until  you  come,  and  you  must  stop  in 
the  waiting-room  of  the  station,  like  two  or- 
phans, until  you  are  called  for.  I  shall  write 
the  telegram  in  the  carriage  going  across  town, 
and  Captain  Webb  and  the  cook  will  pipe  you 
over  the  side  in  royal  style.  Tut,  tut,  not  a 
6i 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 


word,  and  not  an  anxious  thought  for  your- 
selves or  your  kiggage,  and  good-by,  and  good- 
by,  and  a  pleasant  cruise,"  and  the  Commodore 
hurried  away  with  the  outgoing  crowd. 

It  naturally  occurred  to  Mrs.  Zaintree,  as  the 
Commodore  was  disappearing,  that  it  would  be 
as  well  to  conceal  the  fact  of  their  recent  mar- 
riage from  the  profane  and  musical  deck-hands, 
and  with  that  modest  end  in  view  she  hurried 
the  Colonel  off  in  pursuit,  who  was  just  in  time 
to  buttonhole  his  friend  as  he  was  stepping  into 
a  carriage. 

"You  sly  dog,"  laughed  the  Commodore, 
squeezing  the  Colonel's  hand,  "  I  was  a  young 
man  myself  once.  I'll  telegraph  the  Captain 
that  you  expect  your  eldest  son  to  come  on 
board  at  Detroit." 

The  Colonel  stood  an  inch  higher  in  his  own 
estimation  as  the  carriage  containing  the  Com- 
modore rattled  off  over  the  stones.  Mrs.  Zain- 
tree saw  something  outside  the  window  that 
claimed  her  attention  for  a  moment,  and  then 
she  commended  the  Commodore's  cleverness, 
and  intimated  that  if  they  should  not  pass  De- 
troit it  would  be  a  grave  disappointment  to  the 
supposititious  young  man. 

The  July  sun,  climbing  up  into  a  cloudless 
sky,  promised  a  day  of  unusual  heat,  and  the 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

long  train  had  become  twice  as  stuffy  as  before 
since  the  cruise  on  the  lake  had  been  decided 
on. 

"  It  will  be  just  like  the  Dutch  lugger/'  said 
the  lady,  "  only  a  great  deal  nicer.  Instead  of 
fishy  planks  the  cabin-floor  will  be  spread  with 
white  sand,  and  we  can  walk  around  the  coal, 
and  I  am  sure  there  will  be  no  great  patches  on 
the  Commodore's  sails,  and  the  Captain  will  let 
me  take  a  turn  at  the  wheel,  and  we  will  imag- 
ine Lake  Erie  is  the  North  Sea,  and  only  think 
of  it,  you  darling  Colonel,  we  don't  know  where 
we  are  going. ' ' 

The  hot  fragrance  of  the  clover  came  in  at 
the  open  window.  The  cool  green  of  the  corn 
overspread  the  gently  rolling  hills,  away  to  the 
purple  woods,  and  laughed  in  the  face  of  the 
shimmering  heat.  The  towns  and  the  orchards 
slid  by,  and  the  long  western  -  bound  freight 
trains  seemed  to  stand  still,  with  a  ridiculous 
make-believe  of  flurry  and  steam,  for  the  flying 
express  to  pass. 

The  Colonel  felt  assured  that  the  will  of  the 
Commodore  was  already  working  wonders  in 
their  behalf  in  the  city  by  the  lake.  And  so  it 
turned  out,  for  the  carriage  that  picked  them 
up  at  the  station  was  already  half-loaded  with 
wicker-baskets  and  hampers,  and  the  handsome 

63 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

assistant  -  engineer  on  the  box  knew  all  about 
them,  and  had  anticipated  all  their  wants  just 
as  if  they  had  been  expected  for  a  month. 

It  was  nothing  that  they  had  to  mount  a 
rickety  ladder,  and  cross  the  deck  of  a  schoon- 
er, whose  greasy  cook  -  shop  was  redolent  of 
onions,  and  whose  seamy  sides  smelt  of  tar  and 
bilge  -  water.  Another  ladder  rose  from  the 
offensive  deck  against  a  wall  of  iron,  and  the 
bronze  smile  of  Captain  Webb  of  the  Nautilus 
was  beaming  a  welcome  from  the  top. 

Madam  the  cook,  in  a  clean  white  apron, 
with  her  keys  in  a  basket,  led  them  up  the  long 
deck  to  their  quarters  in  the  forecastle ;  and 
VVilhelm,  her  husband  and  first  assistant,  his 
bald  head  sparkling  in  the  sun  like  the  ship's 
binnacle,  brought  up  the  rear,  to  lend  a  hand 
in  stowing  the  luggage,  which  was  neatly  piled 
outside  a  pretty  white  door,  the  formidable  pyr- 
amid crowned  with  the  Colonel's  hat-box. 


64 


II 


"  "  I  ^HE  dear   old    Commodore!"   thought 

X  Mrs.  Zaintree,  sweeping  the  pohshed 
decks  with  the  comprehensive  eye  of  an  experi- 
enced globe-trotter,  "  it  was  all  a  fib  about  the 
coal."  If  the  exclusive  passengers  of  the  Nau- 
tilus were  pleased  with  the  external  appearance 
of  the  craft,  its  trim  smoke-stacks  crowned  with 
a  billo\v  of  scintillating  heat  from  the  suppressed 
energy  below,  what  were  their  surprise  and  de- 
light at  the  revelation  of  comfort  and  luxury 
that  lay  behind  the  little  white  door  by  the 
pyramid  of  luggage. 

A  darkened  vista  of  cabins,  two  in  number, 
panelled  with  sycamore  and  half-separated  with 
silken  draperies,  and  an  opposite  door  opening 
on  a  well-appointed  bath-room.  A  velvet  car- 
pet under  foot ;  a  white-curtained  bed  beyond 
the  dividing  drapery ;  great  easy  -  chairs  and 
couches  backed  with  carved  dolphins  and  up- 
holstered in  leather ;  glittering  lamps  hanging 
from  the  ceilings  ;  a  dainty  writing-table  hooked 
to  the  wall  under  the  window  looking  on  the 
deck ;   two  other  curtained  windows  overlook- 

65 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 


ing  the  tarry  bowsprit  of  the  schooner  along- 
side, and  a  little  shelf  of  new  novels  with  uncut 
leaves.  A  winding  staircase  led  up  to  the  Cap- 
tain's quarters  above,  and  so  out  onto  the  short 
upper  deck  where  the  watch  alternated  before 
the  glazed  wheel-house. 

"  It's  not  a  bit  like  the  Dutch  lugger  with 
red  fins,"  said  the  bride,  out  of  a  nest  of 
cushions,  "  anymore  than  little  Holland  is  like 
big  America,  thanks  to  the  charming  taste  of 
the  Commodore." 

There  was  a  gentle  throb  in  the  timl)ers  of 
the  Nautilus,  the  tarry  ro^Jes  had  disappeared 
from  the  open  windows,  and  a  little  stir  of 
fresher  air  fluttered  the  curtains ;  a  deluge  of 
cool  water  from  some  mysterious  source  streamed 
over  the  cabins  and  presently  spluttered  and 
dashed  against  the  door  and  window  inboard, 
and  when  the  forward  cabins  had  received  a 
satisfactory  cleansing  externally,  the  man  with 
the  hose  turned  his  attention  to  the  main-deck, 
and  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Zaintree,  bound  nowhere 
in  particular,  so  far  as  they  yet  knew,  were  well 
out  on  the  blue  watere  of  Lake  Erie,  the  black 
smoke  billowing  and  tumbling  from  the  twin 
stacks  away  aft  with  something  mysterious  about 
it,  like  the  far-reaching  hospitality  of  the  Com- 
modore. 

66 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

It  was  quite  a  wonderful  ship,  the  Nautilus, 
for  a  carrier  of  freight,  and  the  coal  was  really- 
battened  down  under  the  hatches,  a  full  cargo 
of  it.  More  than  half  of  her  length  was  clean 
unencumbered  deck,  stretching  between  the 
cabins  fore  and  aft,  protected  by  low  bulwarks 
and  dominated  by  two  tall  masts  without  a 
thread  of  canvas ;  and  this  timber  paddock  lay 
in  front  of  the  Colonel's  door,  so  that  once 
out  of  sight  of  land,  where  the  cool  winds 
tempered  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  the  fortunate 
couple  found  it  a  delightful  promenade  whereon 
to  saunter  up  and  down,  encased  in  warm 
flannels. 

Indeed  it  was  quite  a  respectable  walk  to  and 
from  the  dining-cabin,  where  the  cook's  green- 
and-gold  parrot  chose  the  nick  of  time  in  which 
to  scream,  "Make  way  for  the  Captain."  In 
the  little  state  cabin  aft,  alongside  the  main 
dining-room,  a  round  table  was  laid  with  two 
covers  for  the  Commodore's  guests,  and  with  a 
third,  by  request  of  the  Colonel,  for  the  use  of 
the  Captain  whenever  he  was  at  liberty  to  join 
them.  The  Nautilus's  monogram  silver  came 
out  of  its  glass  -  case,  and  the  private  lockers 
yielded  of  their  store  of  dainty  linen  and  china 
to  grace  this  extra  board. 

At  supper,  on  the  very  first  day  out,  Captain 

67 


The  JVedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

Webb,  who  had  gone  to  the  extra  length  of 
putting  on  his  coat  for  the  occasion,  which 
staggered  the  parrot,  eying  him  through  the 
open  door,  into  utter  silence,  announced  that 
the  steamer  would  pass  up  the  Detroit  River 
the  next  evening,  where  young  Mr.  Zaintree 
would  come  out  in  the  reporter's  boat. 

"  Long  since  you  have  seen  your  son, 
ma'am  ?  "  asked  the  Captain. 

Mrs.  Zaintree  said  it  was  a  long  time,  and 
the  Colonel  hastened  to  add  that  Jack  was  not 
very  reliable,  and  he  shouldn't  be  surprised  to 
see  the  boat  come  alongside  without  him. 

"Never  fear,  ma'am,"  said  the  Captain, 
with  an  effort  at  gallantry,  which  had  about  it 
a  flavor  of  the  Commodore's  wine,  "if  your 
son  esteems  his  charming  mother  as  she  de- 
serves, and  he  wouldn't  be  the  Colonel's  boy 
if  he  didn't,  we  shall  hook  him  up  with  the 
evening  papers.  Dear  me,  no,"  continued  the 
Captain,  "the  boat  never  stops,  she  just  slows 
down  a  bit  and  we  lower  a  ladder.  Of  course, 
ma'am,  he  will  sleep  in  this  cabin,  it  is  all  we 
have  to  offer  him ;  but  the  more  the  merrier, 
Colonel,  and  it's  all  in  the  family.  If  you 
should  conclude,  ma'am,  that  you  would  rather 
have  him  on  one  of  the  sofas  in  your  quarters, 
the  cook  will  fix  him  comfortable.  If  you 
68 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

don't  own  the  boat  this  trip  I  don't  know  who 
does,"  and  the  Captain  closed  the  outer  door 
behind  him  and  went  whistUng  away  to  his 
watch. 

The  Colonel  and  his  bride  laughed  merrily 
at  the  huge  success  of  the  Commodore's  tele- 
gram. They  looked  down  at  the  grimy  stokers, 
feeding  the  furnaces,  and  made  a  descent  into 
the  moist,  warm  atmosphere  of  the  engine- 
room,  where  the  great  oily  giant  of  propulsion 
was  doing  its  mysterious,  noiseless  work,  with 
a  ceaseless  gliding  of  steel  bars,  flecked  with 
little  heart-beats  of  thin  steam  from  the  joints 
of  the  monster's  glittering  brass-mounted  har- 
ness. 

The  engineer  was  so  polite  to  the  Com- 
modore's guests  and  so  proud  of  his  machinery, 
and  the  atmosphere  of  the  ship-wide  room  was 
so  balmy,  with  its  pretty  writing  -  desk  in  the 
corner,  and  the  green  water  rushing  by  the 
open  ports,  and  the  curious  dial  on  the  engine, 
that  dropped  an  additional  black  figure  for 
every  revolution  of  the  shaft  (and  had  been 
dropping  figures  ceaselessly  from  the  very  start 
up  into  the  hundred  thousands) — these  things 
were  all  so  interesting  and  so  marvellous  that 
the  oleaginous  odor  of  the  place  became  a 
rather  pleasant  perfume,  so  that  when  they  went 
69 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

out  the    chill   of    the   evening   on   deck   was 
sharpened  by  comparison. 

The  steam  was  turned  on  in  the  radiators  in 
the  forward  cabins,  and  the  lamps  alight,  but 
the  night  was  so  fine  outside  that  our  travellers 
went  up  to  join  the  Captain's  watch  in  front  of 
the  wheel-house. 

It  was  perhaps  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  second  day  of  the  cruise  when  the  Nau- 
tilus was  steaming  up  past  the  forts  and  the  big 
straw  -  colored  Exhibition  building,  relieved 
against  the  canopy  of  smoke  which  overhung 
the  city  of  Detroit,  spreading  back  from  the 
flat  level  of  the  river. 

The  Colonel  was  eager  to  get  the  papers,  and 
Mrs.  Zaintree  was  plying  the  Captain  with  ques- 
tions about  every  prominent  object  on  either 
shore,  going  from  side  to  side  of  the  bow,  com- 
ing into  collision  with  the  capstan  on  the  way 
to  Canada,  and  running  against  the  binnacle  on 
the  Michigan  side,  and  manifesting  less  interest 
in  her  offspring,  the  Captain  thought,  than  a 
she  -  bear  would  show  for  her  cub.  It  rather 
annoyed  the  Captain  to  think  so.  In  many  re- 
spects Mrs.  Zaintree  was  the  most  accomplished 
woman  Captain  Webb  had  ever  come  in  con- 
tact with.  In  his  private  log  he  had  entered 
70 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

her  as  "  a  thoroughbred."  Her  perfect  self- 
possession  seemed  to  him  Hke  an  invisible  armor 
through  which  her  frank,  cordial  manner  and 
engaging  womanly  ways  shone  like  a  soft,  warm 
light.  Her  low  modulated  voice  struck  on  his 
ear  like  music.  In  every  other  respect  the 
Colonel's  wife  was  altogether  lovely,  but  her 
conduct  as  a  mother  completely  staggered  his 
reckoning. 

If  the  lady  divined,  to  some  extent,  what 
was  passing  in  the  Captain's  mind,  she  was  too 
honest  to  dissemble  unnecessarily,  and  a  iew 
unavoidable  expressions  of  regret  for  the  non- 
appearance of  the  mythical  Jack,  after  Detroit 
should  be  left  behind,  would  make  it  all  right. 
When  she  restored  him  his  glass,  v/ith  a  pretty 
speech  of  thanks  for  his  kindness,  and  disap- 
peared down  the  companion-way,  and  that  just 
before  he  got  the  first  view  of  the  reporter's 
boat  pushing  out  from  the  shore,  the  Captain 
shook  his  head  and  pondered  on  the  mysterious 
ways  of  womankind. 

At  the  same  moment  that  these  perplexing 
thoughts  were  vexing  the  Captain's  brain,  Mr. 
Jack  Dorr,  of  Toledo,  O.,  seated  in  the  stern 
of  the  newsman's  boat,  had  his  eye  on  the  Nau- 
tilus steaming  up  the  river.      He  was  speculat- 

71 


The  Wedding  Joimiey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

ing  as  to  how  his  four  dogs  and  all  his  hunting 
traps  and  personal  luggage  could  be  safely  got 
over  the  side  of  the  steamer,  which  was  totally 
oblivious  of  his  existence  and  wouldn't  have 
stopped  for  the  Commodore  himself  But  Mr. 
Jack  Dorr  had  an  authorization  from  the  To- 
ledo office,  duly  signed  and  sealed,  to  board 
the  Nautilus  as  she  passed  Detroit,  and  his 
serenity  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  the 
difficulty  the  officers  would  encounter  in  mak- 
ing the  transfer  of  himself  and  his  effects. 
That  was  their  business  he  flattered  himself, 
and  he  was  only  conscious  of  an  amused  curi- 
osity as  to  how  they  would  acquit  themselves 
in  the  emergency  he  was  about  to  thrust  upon 
them. 

"  The  Nautilus  is  a  slowin'  up  for  some- 
thin',"  the  boatman  observed,  as  he  stuffed  a 
bundle  of  newspapers  into  a  tin  pail,  with  a 
line  attached  to  the  pail.  Mr.  Jack  Dorr  ob- 
served for  himself  that  a  ladder  was  already  over 
the  side,  and  instead  of  holding  up  the  potent 
document  as  he  had  fully  intended  to  do,  he 
threw  away  his  cigar,  and  administered  a  cor- 
rective cuff  apiece  to  two  restive  young  hounds 
who  showed  signs  of  disturbing  the  dignity  of 
his  establishment  with  their  uncalled-for  music. 
"That  must  be  the  skipper,"  he  thought,  as 
72 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 


he  complacently  took  in  the  authoritative  figure 
of  Captain  Webb,  making  the  boat's  line  fast  to 
a  thole-pin. 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself,  Mr.  Zaintree," 
shouted  the  authoritative  figure  at  the  rail, 
"  until  we  get  the  dogs  on  board." 

Mr.  Jack  Dorr  had  not  the  slightest  intention 
of  disturbing  himself.  It  was  not  his  way. 
He  had  been  agreeably  surprised  by  the  abun- 
dant evidence  that  he,  or  somebody  else,  was 
expected  to  board  the  vessel  at  this  particular 
point,  and  the  Captain,  himself,  addressing  him 
by  the  unheard  -  of  name  of  Zaintree,  gave  a 
fresh  and  pleasing  interest  to  the  mystery. 

"Look  here,  John,"  said  Mr.  Jack  Dorr, 
from  his  seat  in  the  stern,  naming  the  news- 
man at  random,  "  take  that  liver-and-white 
setter  under  your  arm,  and  drop  her  on  board  ; 
see?  Don't  be  afraid  of  her,  man.  It's  all 
right,  skipper,  my  dogs  are  up  to  this  sort  o' 
thing." 

When  the  boatman  came  down  for  the  last 
dog  he  brought  the  surprising  information  that 
his  passenger's  father  and  mother  were  on 
board. 

"The  devil  you  say,"  said  Mr.  Jack  Dorr. 
"I'm  glad  to  know  it." 

"  Old  folks  all  right,  skipper?  "  cried  Jack, 

73 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

at  last,  with  a  hearty  grasp  of  the  Captain's  hand 
that  won  the  sailor's  heart  by  storm.  "They 
don't  appear  to  be  dying  to  see  their  son." 

"Your  reckoning  is  about  right,"  said  Cap- 
tain Webb,  taking  no  care  to  conceal  the 
double  meaning  of  his  words.  "  There  comes 
the  Colonel  nov!.'" 

Mr.  Jack  Dorr  took  in  his  new  parent  at  a 
glance  —  a  glance  of  satisfied  approval,  and 
hastened  across  the  deck  to  meet  him. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  governor!  Never  saw 
you  looking  better  !  "  And  there  was  an 
amused  twinkle  of  inquiry  in  Jack's  eyes  as  he 
looked  straight  across  into  the  Colonel's. 

The  Colonel  was  taken  altogether  by  sur- 
prise, for  he  had  been  reading  in  the  cabin, 
and  came  out  with  the  expectation  of  encoun- 
tering nothing  more  personal  than  the  editorial 
thrusts  in  the  Detroit  papers,  and  when  he  saw 
Jack  greeting  the  Captain,  he  suspected  that 
the  Commodore  had  put  off  a  practical  joke  on 
iiim,  and  he  concluded  to  accept  the  situation 
philosophically.  The  Colonel  was  a  sensitive 
man,  and  it  was  no  part  of  his  plan  to  be  made 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  crew,  so  he  returned 
the  strange  young  man's  greeting  heartily 
enough,  and  the  two  turned  away  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  forecastle. 

74 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

"  You  mustn't  mind  my  calling  you  govern- 
or," said  Jack.  '*  As  the  boys  say,  '  Every- 
thing goes  when  you're  away  from  home.' 
The  Captain  called  me  Zaintree,  or  Braintree, 
over  the  rail,  and  sent  me  word  that  my  father 
and  mother  were  on  board,  and  I  accepted  the 
situation,  pop,  just  as  I  found  it." 

"  The  Captain  called  you  Zaintree,  did 
he?  "  said  the  Colonel  with  a  smile.  "  What 
does  the  Commodore  call  you  ?  ' ' 

"  If  you  mean  Commodore  Ketcham,"  said 
Jack,  "  I  don't  know  him  from  a  side  of  sole 
leather,  but  here  is  my  card.  You  are  Colonel 
Zaintree,  I  presume,  and  as  for  myself,  the  sur- 
prising events  that  have  occurred  since  I  came 
alongside  this  ship  leave  me  in  something  of 
a  fog  as  to  who  I  am." 

The  Colonel  put  on  his  gold  eye-glasses  and 
read  the  very  correct  social  statement : 

Mr.  John  Dorr. 

"Hum,"  mused  the  Colonel,  "then  you 
don't  know  the  Commodore,  Mr.  Dorr?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  pleasure,"  said  Jack.  "  And 
by  the  way,  governor,  if  our  relationship  is  to 
go  on  this  trip,  you  had  better  forget  my  name 
altogether  and  call  me  plain  Jack." 

Colonel   Zaintree  pondered  the  situation  in 

75 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

silence  for  a  moment,  during  which  he  ran  a 
quick  eye  over  the  irreproachable  exterior  of 
the  young  man  who  had  accosted  him  so 
breezily.  The  disagreeable  alternative  of  re- 
nouncing the  relationship  already  publicly  as- 
sumed, the  Colonel  wisely  decided,  had  best 
be  submitted  to  the  judgment  of  the  third 
party  interested. 

Captain  Webb  saw  the  gentlemen  disappear 
through  the  little  white  door  with  regret,  for 
the  singular  maternal  conduct  of  the  otherwise 
admirable  Mrs.  Zaintree  was  still  vexing  his 
mind,  and  he  had  hoped  to  be  a  witness  of 
such  a  cordial  meeting  with  her  son  as  should 
triumphantly  vindicate  her  character  as  a 
mother. 

When,  however,  a  half-hour  afterward,  he 
looked  down  from  the  bridge  and  saw  the 
three  pacing  the  deck  arm  in  arm,  the  lady 
addressing  the  greater  part  of  her  conversation 
to  Jack,  he  thought  it  a  very  pretty  family 
tableau,  and  privately  voted  himself  a  fool  for 
his  suspicions. 

If  he  had  seen  the  meeting  in  the  cabin, 
without  hearing  the  words  that  were  spoken, 
he  would  have  been  equally  satisfied  with  Mrs. 
Zaintree's  conduct  as  a  high-bred  mother  and 
with  Jack's  behavior  as  a  dutiful  son.  The 
76 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

set  speech  of  the  Colonel  in  presenting  the 
young  gentleman  died  on  his  lips,  half  uttered, 
as  he  saw  his  wife  drop  the  book  she  had  been 
reading  and  advance  with  both  hands  ex- 
tended, her  face  beaming  with  a  smile  of  wel- 
come and  uttering  the  one  word,  '■'■  Jack  /  " 

As  for  Mr.  Jack  Dorr,  he  came  as  near 
being  surprised  as  was  consistent  with  his  se- 
rene nature. 

Having  possessed  himself  of  the  lady's 
hands,  he  paused  and  counted  ten,  during 
which  prudent  operation  he  digested  some  of 
the  toughest  features  of  the  situation. 

"It  is  a  most  unexpected  pleasure,"  he 
said,  "  to  salute  the  late  Miss  Arabella  Green- 
leaf  as  'mother,'  "  and  with  an  air  of  the 
most  profound  respect  he  bent  forward  and 
kissed  the  lady  on  the  cheek. 

"It's  all  right,  governor,"  cried  Mr.  Jack 
Dorr,  turning  apologetically  to  the  Colonel, 
and  with  an  all  -  comprehensive  sweep  of  his 
long  arms,  "I  congratulate  everybody,"  and 
Mr.  Jack  Dorr  thereupon  threw  himself  upon 
the  nearest  chair  and  laughed  until  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Edith  opened  your  cards  this  morning  be- 
fore I  left  the  house.  How's  Fred  ?  Oh, 
Fred's  all  right.     And   Louise  ?     Louise   is  a 

n 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

corker,  and  don't  you  forget  it?  Oh,  you 
giddy  children  !  "  cried  Jack  after  another 
burst  of  laughter,  "  you  are  playing  the  skip- 
per with  this  story  of  a  son  coming  on  board, 
and  the  dear  old  boy  don't  tumble." 

"It  is  clear  there  has  been  no  improvement 
in  you,  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Zaintree  (born 
Greenleaf).  "  You  are  behaving  as  badly  as 
when  you  were  horrifying  all  England  on  the 
Rotterdam  boat." 

When  the  coincidence  of  Jack's  happening 
was  made  plain  to  the  Colonel,  and  the  mys- 
tery of  the  eldest  son  explained  more  fully  to 
Jack,  it  was  mutually  agreed  that  the  tripartite 
family  relation,  offensive  and  defensive,  must 
be  sustained  on  board  the  Nautilus. 


78 


Ill 


IT  was  a  very  pretty  family  party,  the  Cap- 
tain thought,  grouped  outside  the  cabin- 
door,  after  tea.  Jack  was  so  devoted  to  his 
very  youthful-looking  mamma,  and  the  hand- 
some hunting  dogs  were  chasing  each  other 
about  the  deck,  and  coming  back  at  the  call 
of  the  Colonel. 

Jack  was  telling  Mrs.  Zaintree  that  his  real 
parents,  whom  he  knew  she  ranked  among  her 
most  valued  friends,  were  on  their  way  to 
Duluth,  where  they  would  all  meet. 

"It  will  be  no  surprise,  this  wedding  busi- 
ness," said  Jack,  "  for  Edith  telegraphed 
them  to  where  they  were  stopping  in  Canada 
as  .soon  as  she  received  your  cards. ' ' 

The  Nautilus  was  at  that  moment  steaming 
across  the  beautiful  St.  Clair,  the  land  a  faint 
blue  streak  on  the  horizon.  Owing  to  the 
extreme  heat  of  the  day  the  sky  had  been  roll- 
ing with  thunder-caps,  and  as  the  sun  was  set- 
ting the  gorgeous  cloud-forms  were  sobering 
down  into  a  dome  of  infinite  delicacy  of  tints, 

79 


The  IVedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

uniting  in  almost  imperceptible  lines,  through 
the  purple  and  golden  haze,  with  the  trans- 
parent surface  of  the  lake.  How  enchanting 
and  unreal  it  was  !  They  seemed  to  be  float- 
ing in  the  centre  of  a  vast  globe  of  color,  the 
sunset  below  as  well  as  above  them.  Lying 
low  on  the  horizon,  athwart  the  delicate  pur- 
ple and  lavender  clouds,  a  tattered  rope  of 
coal  smoke  completely  surrounded  them,  now 
shredded  into  almost  imperceptible  strands, 
and  again  spread  out  into  eccentric  zigzag 
masses  thro\ving  deep  shadows  on  the  water. 

It  was  all  very  soothing  and  tranquillizing, 
but  Jack  grew  restive,  nevertheless,  as  the 
music  of  dancing  on  an  excursion  steamer 
came  floating  across  the  water,  and  with  a 
genius  for  spreading  the  contagion  of  his  own 
high  spirits,  he  broke  the  spell  of  the  sunset, 
and  led  the  way  up  to  a  more  extended  out- 
look over  the  bow,  where  it  happened  that  the 
Captain  was  pacing  his  solitary  watch. 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  Jack  seat  his  hand- 
some mamma  where  the  very  best  view  could 
be  had,  and  then  wrap  her  up  to  the  throat 
with  his  own  filial  hands,  against  the  chill  of 
the  evening  air. 

"I  tell  you,  ma'am,"  said  Captain  Webb, 
"  I  knew  your  son  was  the  right  sort  the  min- 

80 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

ute  he  come  over  the  rail.  I  reckon,  ma'am, 
it  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  you  to  have  him 
on  board." 

Mrs.  Zaintree  smiled  and  said  that  Jack  was 
always  very  good  to  her. 

"  It's  the  way  she  raised  me,  skipper,"  said 
Jack.  "  She  never  laid  a  hand  on  me  in  an- 
ger. Taught  me  love  and  respect,  and  that 
sort  o'  thing.  And  the  governor  here,  too, 
has  been  quite  too  indulgent  for  my  good. 
Makes  me  too  liberal  an  allowance.  Took  me 
to  the  races  before  I  was  out  of  short  clothes 
and  played  the  winner  in  my  name,  and  put 
the  stakes  in  my  little  bank.  Now,  I'll  leave  it 
to  you.  Captain,  as  a  fair-minded  man,"  and 
Jack  spoke  feelingly,  '"  if  the  governor  has  any 
call  to  kick,  as  I  am  grieved  to  say  he  does, 
when  I  happen  to  play  the  wrong  horse  ?  ' ' 

"Never  mind  him,  Captain,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  some  austerity;  "I  have  got 
him  now  where  horses  won't  trouble  him  for  a 
few  days.  What's  that  double  row  of  peach- 
trees  growing  out  of  the  lake  just  ahead  ?  It 
looks  like  a  straight-away  course  for  youngsters, 
Jack." 

The  Captain  explained  that  the  curious  em- 
bankments formed  the  St.  Clair  canal,  and 
pointed  out  the  light-houses  on  either  end  and 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

the  buoys  marking  the  channel  of  approach. 
The  peach-trees  turned  out  to  be  brook  wil- 
lows bordering  well  -  worn  pathways  along 
either  side,  and  the  light-houses  looked  quite 
domestic  with  their  vegetable  gardens  and  out- 
houses. The  Colonel  inspected  the  timbered 
sides,  and  the  steam-dredge  moored  against  the 
right-hand  bank,  with  the  eye  of  an  engineer, 
and  Mrs.  Zaintree  had  the  Captain's  glass  lev- 
elled on  the  club-houses  and  hotels  and  cot- 
tages that  stretched  away  to  the  left,  beyond 
the  farther  light-house,  and  opposite  to  the 
swampy  Canadian  shore. 

When  his  honored  parents  grew  tired  of 
watching  the  endless  line  of  lights  in  cottages, 
and  lanterns  hung  among  green  trees,  marking 
pre-empted  claims  on  Government  sand- banks. 
Jack  remained  to  share  the  Captain's  watch  and 
see  the  Nautilus  "tooled"  through  the  river 
into  Lake  Huron. 

Mr.  Jack  Dorr  made  himself  doubly  agree- 
able now  that  he  was  relieved  of  parental  re- 
straint. By  means  of  some  well-chosen  and 
highly  flavored  stories,  which  he  told  with  great 
cleverness,  he  drew  peals  of  laughter  from  the 
two  men  at  the  wheel.  It  afforded  a  peculiar 
satisfaction  to  Jack  to  stir  up  these  ghostly 
listeners  in  the  shadowy  wheel  -  house,  who 
82 


The  IVedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

broke  the  silence  at  long  intervals  by  a  sepul- 
chral echo  of  the  Caj^tain's  orders.  He  was 
glad  to  know  that  they  were  awake,  and  he 
would  give  them  something  more  interesting  to 
repeat  in  the  forecastle  than  the  gossip  of  a  re- 
spectable family. 

Jack  and  the  Captain  got  on  bravely.  They 
talked  local  geography  and  navigation  until 
Gratiot  light  hove  in  sight,  and  then  they  talked 
dog  until  the  boat  was  far  out  in  Lake  Huron. 
The  Captain  was  up  on  dogs.  In  fact  he  owned 
the  best  bred  young  Irish  setter  "  in  the  town 
ofSte.  Marie  or  the  State  of  Michigan,"  and 
if  things  were  favorable  at  the  lock  they  would 
have  time  to  run  over  to  his  house  and  look  at 
it. 

"  Dog  for  sale  ?  "  asked  Jack.  "  The  deuce 
you  say.  Strikes  me  you  want  big  money. 
Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  skipper.  If  the 
governor  is  as  good-natured  to-morrow  as  he 
has  been  to-day,  and  the  pup's  points  please 
me,  I'll  take  it.  Good-night,"  and  Mr.  Jack 
Dorr  went  away  to  his  cabin  aft. 

All  the  next  day  the  Nautilus  labored  through 
a  choppy  sea,  under  a  leaden  sky ;  not  a 
glimpse  of  land  and  rarely  a  ship  in  sight.  The 
anchors  had  been  dropped  overboard  during 
the  night,  off  the  entrance  to  St.  Mary's  River, 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

whose  tortuous  channel  was  not  to  be  navigated 
in  the  dark,  but  with  the  first  rosy  streaks  of 
dawn  they  were  again  under  way. 

When  Jack  awoke  in  the  early  morning  the 
sun  was  just  rising — a  great  golden  ball  sus- 
pended over  the  Canada  woods.  The  sun  hav- 
ing no  particular  charm  for  him  just  then,  he 
saluted  it  with  some  rather  uncomplimentary 
remarks  and  turned  his  face  to  the  opposite 
wall.  At  the  same  moment  a  peculiar  shock  ran 
througli  the  timbers  of  the  vessel  and  he  tumbled 
out  and  thrust  his  head  into  the  unwelcome 
sunHght  in  time  to  see  the  water  boiling  back 
from  the  bow  yellow  with  mud. 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  Mr.  Jack  Dorr,  and 
he  turned  in  again  and  went  to  sleep.  His  re- 
pose, however,  was  short  and  troubled,  for  the 
deck-hands  were  hammering  on  iron  outside 
his  window.  When  he  dressed  himself  and 
came  on  deck  he  learned  that  the  rudder-gear- 
ing had  broken  and  that  the  Nautilus  was  lying 
helpless  across  the  channel.  On  the  port  side 
a  small  pine-tree  overhung  the  rail,  which,  he 
found  on  inspection,  was  attached  to  the  mast 
of  an  American  tug  which  had  borne  down 
with  great  promptness  on  the  stranded  monster, 
scenting  a  job.  On  the  starboard  side  a 
Canadian  revenue  cutter,  flying  the  Union  Jack, 

84 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

had  already  made  fast ;  and  by  the  number  of 
craft  in  sight  he  rightly  judged  that  they  would 
soon  be  the  centre  of  a  considerable  fleet. 

This  interesting  prospect  rather  heightened 
the  relish  of  Jack's  breakfast,  which  he  enjoyed 
with  unusual  deliberation,  and  even  lingered 
behind  to  worry  the  parrot.  As  he  lighted  his 
morning  cigar  and  returned  to  the  deck,  he  was 
peculiarly  in  a  mood  to  take  the  world  as  it 
came.  It  was  well  that  it  was  so,  for  the  full 
bloom  of  Mr.  Jack  Dorr's  serenity  was  present- 
ly disturbed  by  a  familiar  voice  pronouncing 
his  name,  and  turning  about  he  confronted  his 
real  father,  standing  in  an  open  gangway  along- 
side a  large-eyed  Jersey  cow. 

The  meeting  was  altogether  a  happy  one  un- 
til the  elder  Dorr  expressed  his  intention  to 
climb  over  the  boards  put  up  to  confine  the 
cow,  and  come  on  board  the  Nautilus. 

"Don't  do  it,"  said  Jack.  "I've  got  one 
governor  on  board  already  ;  in  fact  I  am  trav- 
elling with  my  parents,  and  your  presence  would 
compromise  the  family  arrangements." 

"  Hang  the  family  arrangements,"  cried 
Jack's  father,  "I'm  coming  on  board  to  look 
into  the  family  arrangements.  Do  you  want  to 
disgrace  your  mother,  you  young  vagabond  ? 
Do  you  know  she  is  somewhere  on  the  upper 

85 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

deck  of  this  steamer  overlooking  your  deviltry 
at  this  moment  ?  ' ' 

"  Come  now,  pop  ;  my  mother  is  all  right, 
Heaven  bless  her.  I  am  more  anxious  just  now 
about  the  charming  lady  who  sustains  that  rela- 
tion to  me  on  board  this  boat.  Easy  now, 
governor,  easy.     You  know  her  already. ' ' 

The  elderly  gentleman  was  fast  getting  be- 
yond the  control  of  his  son's  peculiar  methods 
of  pacification,  and  the  mild-eyed  cow  was 
staring  at  him  through  her  halter  with  a  dumb 
look  of  wonderment.  It  was  fortunate  for 
Jack,  at  this  critical  moment,  that  the  Colonel 
and  his  bride  emerged  from  the  breakfast 
cabin.  It  was  fortunate  that  Jack  saw  them 
and  beckoned  them  over. 

He  wisely  resigned  the  task  of  pacifying  his 
father  into  the  hands  of  the  charming  Mrs. 
Zaintree  (born  Greenleaf),  who  had  already 
played  the  same  role  in  his  behalf  with  eminent 
success.  While  the  explanations  and  congratu- 
lations were  going  on  between  his  two  govern- 
ors, Jack  relighted  his  cigar,  and  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  pretty  Canadian  girls,  in  sailor 
hats,  looking  over  the  rail  of  the  passenger 
steamer.  Sure  enough,  there  was  his  mother 
under  an  awning,  but  she  didn't  see  him  ;  and 
cautioning  the  bride  to  keep  out  of  sight  until 
86 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

he  Iiad  explained  the  situation,  he  clambered 
through  the  gangway,  leaving  his  placated 
father  on  board  the  Nautilus. 

Jack's  mother  had  it  particularly  impressed 
upon  her  that  Arabella  Greenleaf  was  not  known 
to  be  a  bride  on  board  the  Nautilus — not  by  a 
good  many  years,  Jack  said — and  then  the 
ladies  were  allowed  to  greet  each  other,  at  a 
distance,  and  throw  kisses,  and  console  their 
warm  hearts  Avith  the  prospect  of  a  completer 
unburdening  in  the  hotel  at  Duluth.  Jack  was 
so  fond  of  his  real  mother,  and  lingered  so  long 
in  her  company,  that  the  passenger  steamer 
came  near  backing  away  with  him  on  board. 
As  it  was,  he  slid  down  a  flag-staft'  and  jumped 
to  the  deck  of  the  Nautilus,  in  imminent  dan- 
ger of  breaking  his  bones. 

The  Canadian  boat  was  well  in  the  offing 
when  Jack  walked  into  his  own  cabin,  and,  to 
his  consternation,  found  his  father  and  the 
Colonel  pledging  each  other  in  the  Commo- 
dore's champagne. 

"  Well,  here  is  a  go,"  cried  Jack.  "  Mother 
alone  on  the  other  boat,  damage  repaired,  lines 
cast  off,  and  Heaven  help  me,  with  two  gov- 
ernors to  manage  on  one  ship.  Now  don't  get 
excited,  sir ;  it's  too  late  for  that  sort  of  thing. 

87 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 


You  are  here  to  stay,  and  she  won't  miss  you 
until  we  get  up  to  the  locks." 

Of  course  there  was  a  little  commotion  ;  the 
gentlemen  rushed  on  deck  only  to  find  that  the 
two  ships  were  out  of  hailing  distance.  Mr. 
Dorr  the  elder  consoled  himself  with  the  belief 
that  his  wife  would  think  he  was  in  the  barber's 
shop,  or  the  wheel-house,  or  the  engine-room, 
or  somewhere  else  on  board,  for  he  had  a  habit 
of  roaming  about  the  steamer.  He  would  get 
back  where  he  belonged  during  the  passage  of 
the  locks  of  the  Saint  Mary's,  and  his  wife 
wouldn't  believe  him  when  he  related  his  ad- 
venture. 

Jack  saw  the  Captain  j>assing,  and  hailed  him. 
"  This  gentleman,"  he  said,  "  is  a  friend  of  the 
governor's ;  got  left  by  the  passenger  steamer. 
Governor  Dorr,  Captain  Webb.  Ex-Governor 
Dorr  of  Florida,  I  believe."  It  had  occurred 
to  Jack's  fertile  brain  that  he  could  thus  fore- 
stall the  danger  of  a  slip  of  the  tongue  on  his 
part,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  passage  jum- 
ble his  two  governors  to  his  heart's  content. 
"  He  is  rather  a  distinguislied  stowaway,"  con- 
tinued Jack,  "  but  I  reckon  we  can  take  care  of 
him  up  to  the  locks." 

At  this  he  left  the  governors  in  the  company 
of  the  Captain,  and  hastened  away  to  apprise  the 

88 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

Colonel's  bride  of  the  new  official  dignity  he 
had  conferred  on  his  father.  It  seemed  to  Jack 
that  his  old  friend  Arabella  Greenleaf  had  never 
been  more  charming  than  he  found  her  at  that 
moment,  in  the  luxurious  cabin  of  the  Nautilus, 
flushed  with  the  excitement  of  the  recent  meet- 
ing and  full  of  enthusiasm  in  view  of  the  coming 
reunion  at  Uuluth. 

"  And  two  long  days  on  Lake  Superior  be- 
fore we  get  there,"  said  she,  sorrowfully.  '•  I 
didn't  think  yesterday  that  anything  could  hap- 
pen to  make  this  delightful  voyage  too  long. 
What  a  pity  it  is,  when  we  are  all  bound  to  the 
same  port,  we  must  travel  by  different  ships. 
Oh  !  Jack,"  and  the  lady's  face  brightened  at 
the  thought,  "  we  must  get  your  mother  trans- 
ferred to  the  Nautilus  while  we  are  passing 
through  the  locks,  instead  of  returning  your 
father  to  the  Canadian  steamer.  Come,  come, 
Jack;  I'll  appeal  to  Captain  Webb,  as  a  per- 
sonal favor." 

"Well  now,  my  very  enthusiastic  friend," 
said  Jack,  interposing  his  bulk  between  the  lady 
and  the  door,  "  you  want  to  compose  yourself 
first,  and  bear  in  mind  that  the  situation  is 
considerably  complicated  on  this  ship  already. 
The  arrangement  can  undoubtedly  be  effected. 
I  suspect  that  Captain  Webb  is  rather  fond  of 
89 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

you — fancy  he  will  grant  your  request  jolly 
quick.  But  you  must  be  very  cool-headed 
when  you  tackle  him,  and  not  go  blurting  out 
things  about  my  mother,  and  forgetting  that 
you  are  a  mother  yourself ' ' 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  sighed  the  lady,  "  what  a  tan- 
gled web  we  weave ' ' 

"  That's  what  it  is,  my  dear  mamma.  But 
take  a  little  time  to  consider.  There's  lots  of 
time.  Two  good  hours.  Let's  begin,"  and 
in  a  moment  they  were  walking  up  and  down 
the  deck  outside  in  consultation. 

Close  off  the  port  rail  a  herd  of  American 
cows  was  standing  in  the  edge  of  the  river, 
affording  a  soothing  object-lesson  in  patience, 
as  they  lazily  switched  the  flies  from  their  sides 
and  dozed  ruminant  in  the  broad  sunlight. 
The  Canadian  passenger  steamer  was  threading 
the  channel  in  the  wake  of  the  Nautilus,  its  high 
sides  and  deck-cabins  resembling  an  Atlantic 
coaster,  and  its  dingy  color  suggesting  an  un- 
painted  farm-house. 


90 


IV 


As  Jack  had  predicted,  Captain  Webb  gra- 
ciously granted  Mrs.  Zaintree's  request, 
gallantly  intimating  that  he  would  turn  the  ship 
into  a  privateer  to  oblige  her,  and  the  late  Ara- 
bella Greenleaf  made  short  work  of  the  objec- 
tions of  the  paternal  Dorr.  By  the  time  they 
sighted  the  granite  portal  of  Lake  Superior,  the 
flashing  rapids  of  the  "  Soo  "  tumbling  over 
the  rocks,  under  the  airy  trestle  of  the  Canadian 
Pacific  on  the  right,  and  the  white  houses  and 
green  park  of  Ste.  Marie  lying  to  the  left,  every- 
thing was  settled  on  board  the  Nautilus.  Jack 
was  to  take  an  extra  berth  in  the  Captain's  cabin 
and  resign  his  own  to  his  parents  like  a  dutiful 
son.  He  fully  appreciated  the  advantages  of 
the  new  arrangement,  throwing  him,  as  it 
v^'ould,  into  extra  confidential  relations  with 
the  navigator  of  the  Nautilus.  It  would  help 
him  to  maintain  his  grip  on  the  situation.  He 
foresaw  that  the  management  of  two  sets  of  par- 
ents, on  the  same  ship,  under  the  critical  eyes 
of  the  crew,  would  require  the  greatest  coolness 

91 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

on  his  part.  Not  that  he  felt  any  great  anxiety, 
or  perplexity,  or  unusual  responsibility.  Alto- 
gether it  was  the  most  delightful  and  inspiring 
emergency  that  Mr.  Jack  Dorr  had  ever  figured 
in.  He  fairly  revelled  in  it.  Instead  of  per- 
plexing him  it  nerved  him  and  cooled  his 
brain. 

While  the  steamers  lay  below  the  lock  he 
found  time  to  go  across  the  park  with  Captain 
Webb  and  look  at  his  Irish  setter,  and  buy  it 
too,  at  a  rather  exorbitant  figure,  not  because 
he  wanted  it,  but  because  that  stroke  of  liberal- 
ity on  his  part  would  establish  him  the  more 
firmly  in  the  good  graces  of  the  Captain. 

On  their  return  with  the  superfluous  dog  he 
found  his  mother  on  board.  The  two  ladies 
were  so  absorbed  in  each  other  that  while  the 
sinall  fleet  of  steamers  was  rising  on  the  boiling 
surface  of  the  lock  they  had  shut  themselves  up 
in  the  cabin.  Jack  and  his  two  governors,  on 
the  contrary,  took  a  lively  interest  in  the  pas- 
sage through  the  great  granite  gateway  of  the 
lakes.  Nothing  escaped  them,  from  the  hy- 
draulic working  of  the  lock  to  the  shining  sol- 
diers ogling  the  village  girls,  and  the  Chippewa 
half-breeds  hawking  fish  freshly  taken  from  the 
rapids.  They  looked  regretfully  upon  the  last 
barefooted  urchin  of  Ste.  Marie  watching  his 
92 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

bobber  in  the  sunlight  as  they  steamed  away 
through  the  open  draw  of  the  Canadian  Pacific, 
and  passed  the  hght-house  onto  the  bosom  of 
the  greatest  of  the  lakes. 

Fully  determined  as  Jack  was  to  guard  the 
secret  of  Mrs.  Zaintree,  he  had  no  idea  of  neg- 
lecting any  favorable  opportunity  to  complicate 
the  situation  still  further.  His  serenity  always 
increased  as  he  succeeded  in  multiplying  diffi- 
culties, and  he  proposed  to  give  his  genius  for 
comedy  full  play.  He  saw  a  rather  humorous 
possibility  at  hand,  but  he  was  never  in  a  hur- 
ry, and  after  looking  thoughtfully  down  at  the 
green  water  slipping  by,  he  spent  a  lazy  after- 
noon reading  in  the  warm  sunshine  on  deck. 

In  the  evening  he  joined  the  Captain's  watch. 
The  moonlight  silvered  the  smooth  surface  of 
the  lake  ;  here  and  there  the  lights  of  a  steamer 
twinkled  in  the  hazy  offing  ;  a  huge  banner  of 
black  smoke  trailed  back  against  the  canopy  of 
countless  stars,  and  so  still  was  it  that  the  tick- 
ing of  the  wood  -  work  could  be  heard  as  the 
great  boat  warped  along.  The  listening  ears  in 
the  shadowy  wheel-house  were  not  in  the  least 
annoying  to  Jack ;  he  found  it  perfectly  con- 
venient to  ignore  them. 

He  yawned  and  broke  the  silence  : 

"  Rather  agreeable  elderly   people  we  took 

93 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

on  board  to-day?  "  (Pause  and  more  silence.) 
"  Wouldn't  spot  the  old  lady  for  a  bride  now, 
would  you,  skipper?  " 

"  Go  'way,"  said  the  Captain,  rousing  to  the 
occasion. 

"  Fact,"  said  Jack,  "  we  met  her  abroad 
last  year.  Old  maid  then.  Second  matri- 
monial trip  for  the  governor.  Yes,  skipper, 
they  are  on  their  wedding-journey  now." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Captain,  after  a  pause, 
"  we'll  have  to  make  it  as  pleasant  for  'em  as 
we  can." 

That  very  night  as  Jack  lay  on  his  bed,  toss- 
ing restlessly  about  in  his  new  and  rather  nar- 
row quarters,  he  heard  the  music  of  accordions 
swelling  up  from  the  direction  of  the  after- 
cabins.  The  Captain  was  sleeping  soundly  after 
his  watch,  and  the  see-saw  droning  of  the  mu- 
sic was  so  satisfactory  to  Jack's  mind,  and  withal 
so  soothing  to  his  spirit,  that  he  fell  asleep  him- 
self and  dreamed  that  he  was  leading  a  sere- 
nade. 

Anybody  could  see  with  half  an  eye  that 
something  had  occurred  to  put  new  life  in  the 
crew  of  the  Nautilus.  The  stokers  sang  more 
lustily  at  their  work.  The  deck-hands  were 
noisier  than  ever  in  the  gangway  of  the  fore- 
castle and  prolonged  their  orgies  to  a  later  hour. 

94 


The  Wedding  journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 


Old  Wilhelm's  bald  head  sparkled  in  the  sun 
like  a  binnacle  that  contained  a  secret.  The 
Captain  had  a  provokingly  knowing  look  in  his 
eye,  and  the  ship  itself  forged  ahead  as  if  it 
were  informed  through  all  its  timbers  with  a 
new  life  and  energy. 

For  a  plain  sailor  -  man  Captain  Webb  was 
rather  profuse  in  his  attention  to  the  elder  lady 
on  board.  And  this  extra  devotion  did  not 
escape  the  observation  of  the  younger  lady. 

To  Mrs.  Zaintree  the  crew  were  plain,  civil 
men,  while  Mrs.  Dorr  confessed  to  her  friend 
that  there  was  an  indescribable  something  in 
their  manner  that  made  her  uncomfortable. 
She  might  be  too  sensitive,  but  she  couldn't 
overcome  the  feeling.  As  to  that  German 
woman,  the  cook,  her  manners  were  dreadful. 
When  Jack  had  come  into  the  cabin  that  morn- 
ing and  kissed  her,  his  own  mother  (which  was 
very  nice  of  him,  it  was  so  very  unusual),  that 
creature  had  sniffed  and  walked  out  of  the  room 
with  the  air  of  a  woman  insulted.  To  this  Mrs. 
Zaintree  replied  by  reminding  her  friend  that, 
so  far  as  Jack  was  concerned,  they  had  ex- 
changed places  for  the  trip.  In  the  light  of 
this  forgotten  arrangement  Mrs.  Dorr  could 
overlook  the  conduct  of  the  cook,  but  it  was 
a  horrid  boat  and  she  should  be  glad  to  get 

95 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

ashore ;  and  Mrs.  Zaintree,  too,  began  to  feel  that 
the  situation  was  anything  but  a  pleasant  one. 

The  Captain  was  conscious  that  both  ladies 
treated  him  with  a  degree  of  restraint,  and  held 
themselves  aloof  in  a  rather  puzzling  way.  If 
there  was  anything  wrong  with  the  ladies,  the 
three  gentlemen  were  doing  all  they  could  to 
make  up  for  it.  Three  more  affable  and  down- 
right jolly  gentlemen,  the  Captain  was  forced  to 
admit,  had  never  gone  up  on  his  boat.  As  to 
women,  in  the  abstract,  he  was  driven  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  a  mistake  to  have  them 
on  board. 

When  he  confided  to  Jack  that  there  was  a 
screw  loose  somewhere,  and  that  his  navigation 
among  the  women  was  a  failure,  that  young 
gentleman  entered  feelingly  into  the  subject  of 
his  perplexity,  and  suggested  that  the  bride 
might  be  offended  because  he  had  not  suffi- 
ciently acknowledged  her  state  on  board. 
Some  little  complimentary  demonstration,  he 
thought,  might  make  it  all  right.  As  that 
night's  dinner  would  be  the  last  on  board, 
Jack  proposed  to  make  it  an  extra  festive  occa- 
sion, and  volunteered  to  stand  by  his  friend  to 
the  best  of  his  ability.  Old  Wilhelm  was 
called  up  and  given  the  necessary  directions. 
Jack  spread  the  news  of  the  dinner  among  the 
96 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

guests,  and  when  the  ladies  encountered  the 
Captain  on  deck  they  thanked  him  so  graciously 
that  he  felt  that  whatever  misunderstanding 
there  might  have  been,  was  healed  already. 
Jack  was  a  wonderful  manager,  and  the  good 
feeling  on  board  mounted  to  enthusiasm.  It 
was  a  day  of  days  on  the  great  lake.  Still 
w^ater  under  a  cloudless  sky.  A  mirage  here 
and  a  mirage  there,  and  the  ship's  glass  pass- 
ing from  hand  to  hand.  Steamers  in  the  dis- 
tance assumed  all  sorts  of  fantastic  shapes,  and 
bore  down  on  them  in  the  form  of  curious 
covered  barges,  and  loomed  up  with  as  many 
as  four  decks,  and  shifted  themselves  into 
Spanish  galleons,  and  then  gradually  put  off"  all 
disguise  and  steamed  by,  the  very  counterparts 
of  the  Nautilus. 

If  Mrs.  Zaintree  composed  herself  to  read  in 
the  shade  of  the  bridge,  the  show  began  again 
in  the  great  azure  amphitheatre.  Some  far- 
away tow  of  schooners  climbed  up  into  a  tower 
of  canvas  or  turned  slow  somersaults  in  the 
hazy  distance  and  then  melted  away  in  the  act 
of  turning.  Jack  said  that  it  was  a  very  credit- 
able little  circus  to  usher  in  the  Captain's  dinner, 
which  differed  in  this  respect  from  dinners  on 
shore,  where  the  mirage  commonly  unfolded 
itself  afterward. 

97 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

It  was  a  long  time  after  the  green-and-gold 
parrot  cried:  "Make  way  for  the  Captain," 
before  that  promoter  of  the  feast  got  himself 
into  a  sufficiently  genial  and  convivial  state  of 
mind  to  lead  off  in  the  speaking.  The  Captain 
was  so  long,  in  fact,  in  coming  to  the  point 
that  Jack  took  the  floor  in  his  behalf,  and  made 
one  of  his  characteristic  after-dinner  speeches, 
in  which  he  said,  among  other  things,  that  his 
friend,  Captain  Webb,  of  the  Nautilus,  was 
well  aware  of  the  interesting  relations  sustained 
by  certain  parties  on  board  his  ship  ;  that  there 
were  some  things  which  could  not  be  concealed 
from  so  shrewd  an  observer  as  the  Captain  ; 
that  his  friend  the  Captain  had  sought  in  every 
way  to  serve  the  Commodore's  guests,  and  that, 
in  tendering  this  little  testimonial  dinner  to 
the  lady  who  was  the  distinguished  guest  of  the 
occasion,  he  trusted  that  the  others  would  join 
him  in  congratulations  and  good  wishes  ;  and, 
finally,  he  begged  to  say  in  behalf  of  his 
parents  on  board,  that  the  courtesy  and  kind- 
ness of  the  Captain  and  the  marked  attention  of 
the  crew  could  never  be  forgotten  by  him  or 
by  them. 

As  Jack  sat  down  without  having  drawn  out 
any  of  the  applause  which  his  ingenious  speech 
merited,  the  Captain  arose  promptly  and  pro- 
98 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 


posed  the  health  of  the  bride  in  a  (ew  well- 
chosen  remarks,  during  which  he  looked  hard 
across  the  table  at  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dorr,  who 
smiled  in  return  and  thought  it  a  very  clever 
nautical  way  of  taking  them  into  his  confidence 
at  the  expense  of  the  Colonel,  and  not  so  try- 
ing to  the  bride  as  if  he  had  stared  directly  at 
her. 

Of  course  the  Colonel  felt  called  upon  to 
respond,  which  he  did,  after  a  brief  hesitation, 
by  proposing  the  health  of  Captain  Webb  of 
the  Nautilus,  which  sentiment  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Dorr  applauded  so  heartily  that  the  Captain  was 
fain  to  be  satisfied  with  their  response  by  proxy, 
although  he  was  a  good  deal  surprised  that  an 
ex-Governor  should  not  be  a  fluent  after-dinner 
speaker. 

The  Captain  was  mightily  pleased  with  the 
success  of  his  little  banquet,  and  his  guests  were 
so  surprisingly  jolly  over  it  that  he  felt  himself 
quite  a  social  lion.  They  were  so  very  merry 
that  they  would  never  desert  him  until  they 
got  the  first  glimpse  of  the  far-away  lights  of 
Duluth.  Jack  and  his  two  governors,  with 
their  cigars,  and  the  ladies  in  warm  wraps, 
kept  the  deck  far  into  the  night,  and  made  it 
very  lively  for  the  men  at  the  wheel.  The 
long  lines  of  electric  lights  on  the  granite  hill- 

99 


The  Wedding  Journey  of  Mrs.  Zaintree 

side  flashed  row  above  row,  and  shot  long 
lances  into  the  lake,  and  the  great  shadowy 
elevators  were  piled  up  against  the  western  sky 
before  ever  the  Captain  was  left  alone  to  ponder 
on  the  wonderful  cleverness  of  Jack's  manage- 
ment, and  rub  his  hands  in  gleeful  memory  of 
his  own  shrewdness  and  penetration. 

"A  bridal  party  go  up  on  my  boat  and  I 
not  know  it  at  sight!  "  thought  the  Captain. 
"Not  much  —  not  if  they  were  turned  of 
ninety." 

"You  are  a  sly  one,  Governor  Dorr,"  he 
muttered  to  himself  as  he  was  parting  with  his 
guests  on  the  wharf  next  morning.  "  Mighty 
sly,  Governor,  but  you  must  get  the  rice  out 
of  your  hair  before  you  come  on  board  the 
Nautilus." 

And  to  Mrs.  Zaintree,  he  said  : 

"  You  are  a  pattern  mother  of  a  pattern  son, 
ma'am,  and  if  I  did  think  you  a  bit  unfeeling 
when  Jack  was  coming  on  board  it's  because 
I'm  not  a  society  man,  ma'am,  and  didn't 
know  the  thoroughbred  trick." 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


UNCLE  OBADIAH'S  UNCLE  BILLY 

THE  spare  figure  of  the  old  man  on  the 
houseless  country  road,  pushing  on  into 
the  twilight  with  a  weary,  swinging  tread,  was 
as  erect  under  its  Aveight  of  fourscore  years 
as  that  of  any  boy  of  fifty.  The  spare  figure 
melted  into  the  leafless  woods,  and  reappeared 
a  little  later  on  the  hill,  very  tall  and  very  mys- 
terious-against  the  fading  light.  A  knapsack  as 
thin  and  shrunken  as  the  muscles  of  the  old 
man  clung  close  to  his  square  shoulders,  and 
the  bronze  star,  made  of  the  metal  of  captured 
cannon,  rattled  against  a  medal  for  personal  ser- 
vice, and  the  music  cheered  his  old  heart. 

Although  it  was  not  yet  the  first  of  March, 
the  rank  smell  of  the  mellow  earth  proclaimed 
the  absence  of  frost,  and  the  brook  at  the  road- 
side ran  swollen  and  yellow  between  its  banks. 
The  old  man  in  blue  asked  the  way  to  the  vil- 
lage of  a  boy  who  was  trotting  in  the  gravel  be- 
hind the  crackling  hoofs  of  a  white  cow,  and 
then  added  in  a  weary  voice  : 

"Perhaps  you   might  know,   my   lad,   of  a 

103 


Uncle  Ohadiab'^  Uncle  Billv 


youngster  hereabouts  of  the  name  of  Frederick 
Brown  ?  ' ' 

But  the  boy  only  stared,  and  then  ran  away, 
as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost.  He  did  not  know 
Private  Obadiah  Brown,  of  six  wounds  and  one 
medal :  one  wound  received  in  storming  the 
outworks  of  Atlanta  ;  four,  in  the  heart,  for  the 
sons  he  had  buried  on  as  many  bloody  fields  ; 
and  the  sixth  for  his  youngest  boy,  "  missing  " 
after  the  battle.  And  this  was  the  wound  that 
had  never  healed,  and  this  was  the  boy  he  had 
never  given  up.  All  the  years  that  had  passed 
since  his  discharge,  with  unfaltering  courage 
and  undying  hope  he  had  kept  up  the  weary 
search,  growing  old  and  childish,  with  a  youth 
of  twenty  in  his  vision,  who  should  have  been 
a  man  of  fifty  —  so  completely  had  the  two 
changed  places.  He  had  passed  the  short  win- 
ters at  many  soldiers'  homes  in  many  States, 
ready  to  start  afresh  in  the  spring  on  roads 
that  led  through  new  towns  and  cities,  armed 
with  the  bronze  star  and  the  countersign  and 
the  fraternal  grip,  potent  to  open  the  doors  and 
the  hearts  of  the  Grand  Army  posts. 

Although  in  his  restless  journeying  he  was  al- 
Avays  coming  to  some  new  town  or  lodging- 
place,  it  better  fits  his  character  of  wanderer 
that  he  was  always  leaving  friends  and  firesides 

104 


U7icle  Obadiab's  Uncle  Billy 


— the  known  behind  and  the  unknown  fleeing 
before  him — always  going,  going. 

While  the  form  of  the  boy  faded  into  the 
bosky  landscape,  the  cow  grew  whiter  with  the 
growing  darkness,  and  preceded  the  old  man 
like  a  cloud  by  night,  until  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  village  belfry  sprinkled  around  with  early 
stars.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  face  of  the 
clock,  but  as  he  approached  the  hammer  beat 
three  strokes,  and  then  was  still. 

This  was  encouraging. 

The  tavern  was  a  little  further  on,  and  Pri- 
vate Obadiah  Brown  turned  in  at  the  open  door. 
The  landlord  was  behind  the  dismantled  bar, 
trimming  the  oil-lamps.  The  quick  eye  of  the 
old  man  caught  the  light  on  a  small  bronze  but- 
ton in  the  lapel  of  the  landlord's  coat,  and  the 
landlord  took  in  the  star  and  medal  on  the 
other's  breast,  and  the  two  men  were  friends  in 
an  instant,  and,  no  customers  being  present  to 
interfere,  were  promptly  off  on  their  old  cam- 
paigns, with  chuckles,  and  hand-shakes,  and 
"you  bets,"  and  "Grant  fit  it  out  on  them 
lines,  shure,"  and  "They  couldn't  fool  Uncle 
Billy." 

The  tavern-keeper  forgot  to  offer  the  fly- 
blown register,  which  had  not  secured  an  au- 
tograph in  a  week,  with  the  spluttering  pen  out 

105 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


of  the  tumbler  of  bird-shot,  and  the  old  man 
forgot  his  knapsack  and  his  hunger  and  his 
rheumatics,  until  the  more  important  functions 
of  comradeship  had  been  duly  performed  to 
their  common  satisfaction. 

Private  Obadiah  Brown  felt  refreshed  when 
supper  was  done.  Indeed,  he  had  not  been 
overtired  on  his  arrival,  late  as  the  hour  was, 
for  he  had  walked  only  a  few  miles  since  he  had 
mended  his  last  clock. 

About  the  soft-coal  fire,  which  flickered  and 
blazed  in  the  open  grate  before  the  bar,  a  few 
of  the  old  soldiers  thereabouts,  with  metal  but- 
tons on  their  vests,  had  chanced  in  for  an  even- 
ing's lounge,  and  were  ready  to  give  a  fraternal 
greeting  to  Uncle  Obadiah  when  that  ancient 
veteran  should  reappear. 

The  blacksmith,  who  had  been  a  sergeant  in 
a  light  battery,  by  a  sort  of  acknowledged  vil- 
lage supremacy  was  the  first  to  present  himself. 

"  I  reckon,  comrade,"  he  said,  as  he  put 
out  his  great  hairy  arm,  and  the  two  exchanged 
the  regulation  grip,  "  as  how  you  must  outrank 
us  all,  countin'  by  years." 

"  I'm  turned  of  eighty,"  said  Uncle  Obadiah, 

straightening  himself  with  soldierly  pride,  and 

looking  across  at  the  old  boys,  each  standing 

unconsciously  at   "attention"  in    front  of  his 

1 06 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


arm-chair.  "  Old  enough  to  be  a  major-giner- 
al,  an'  not  too  old  nur  too  proud  to  be  a  high 
private." 

"This  here  old  vet,"  continued  thesergeant- 
blacksmith,  giving  a  hearty  whack  to  the  first 
old  farmer's  back,  "is  Comrade  Stover  of  the 
8ist  Infantry,  an'  he'll  give  ye  all  the  hand 
he's  got,  an'  he  can  drive  a  pair  o'  young 
hosses  as  well  as  the  next  one ;  an'  him  with 
the  bow  legs,"  giving  Uncle  Obadiah  a  sly 
poke  in  the  ribs,  "  is  Comrade  Hitch  of  the 
Fourteenth  Cavalry  (never  run  no  great  resk  o' 
bein'  hurt).  An'  this  next  one,  on  crutches,  is 
Comrade  Cist  from  Georgy,  as  fit  on  the  other 
side,  an'  left  his  leg  on  Missionary  Ridge. ' ' 

"I'm  truly  sorry  'bout  the  leg,  comrade," 
cried  Uncle  Obadiah,  marching  over  to  give  an 
extra-energetic  shake  to  the  last  man's  hand, 
"an'  I've  no  doubt  you  did  yer  duty  as  you 
saw  it.  But,  comrades,  I  had  a  boy,  an'  he 
was  the  last  o'  five,  jest  risen  twenty,  who 
went  into  that  fight  on  Missionary,  as  bright 
and  chipper  as  a  lark,  an'  ef  he'd  'a'  left  a  leg 
there  I'd  'a'  had  somethin'  to  remember  him 
by  ;  but  instead  he  jest  disappeared  out  o'  hand, 
comrades,  an'  it's  him  I'm  lookin'  for.  Jest 
risen  twenty — favors  me  when  I  was  that  old — 
light-complected,  with  blue  eyes  —  powerful 
107 


U}icle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


chipper,  and  answers  to  the  name  o'  Frederick 
Brown.  Have  airy  one  o'  you  comrades  seen 
or  heard  of  sich  a  boy  goin'  by  the  name  o' 
Frederick  Brown  ?  " 

The  comrades  maintained  a  respectful  silence, 
and  the  eager  look  of  inquiry  which  had  over- 
spread the  old  man's  face  faded  into  an  ex- 
pression of  weariness,  and  with  a  deep-drawn 
sigh  he  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  It's  all  right,  comrades  :  I  didn't  much 
think  you  knew  my  boy,  but  if  I  could  once 
meet  up  with  Uncle  Billy,  he'd  tell  me  all 
about  him.  Uncle  Billy  knew  him  well.  He 
hilt  his  horse  one  day.  No  one  once  seein' 
my  boy  could  easy  forgit  him,  an'  Uncle  Billy 
never  forgot  a  human  being  as  did  him  a  favor. 
They  say  he  was  terrible  crusty  sometimes,  and 
them  under-ginerals  was  mortal  afeared  of  him 
when  he  was  riled,  but  he  always  had  a  smile 
an'  a  kind  word  for  the  boys.  I  might  'a' 
writ  him  a  letter  about  Frederick,  but  writin' 
wouldn't  be  like  talkin'  to  Uncle  Billy  face  to 
face;  an',  you  see,  I  wanted  to  see  him  once 
more  afore  I  died,  an'  appeal  to  him  like  a 
father  to  a  father,  an'  show  him  that  I  kep'  the 
old  medal  faithful."  Uncle  Obadiah  lifted  the 
bronze  coin  from  his  breast  and  gazed  fondly 
on  his  treasure. 

io8 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


"  Uncle  Billy  didn't  just  give  it  to  me  with 
his  own  hands,  comrades,  but  he  had  a  letter 
writ  to  the  whole  army  givin'  it  from  him  to 
me.  I  was  young  then,  comrades — only  fifty- 
two — an'  when  the  gineral's  aide  pinned  it  on 
my  blouse  front  before  the  colonel  an'  the 
whole  regiment — parade  rest — he  gave  me  an- 
other letter,  an'  ev'ry  word  of  it  was  writ  by 
Uncle  Billy  with  his  own  name  signed  to  it : 
'  William  Tecumseh  Sherman,  Major-Gineral 
Commanding,  to  Private  Obadiah  Brown.'  An' 
I  hain't  never  parted  with  that  letter,  comrades, 
not  for  a  day." 

With  trembling  fingers  Uncle  Obadiah  un- 
buttoned his  tightly  fitting,  threadbare,  military- 
looking  coat,  and  drew  from  the  breast  pocket 
a  formidable  package,  from  which  he  undid 
wrapper  after  wrapper  until  he  came  to  an 
official  paper,  yellow  with  age.  Then  he  got 
up  and  shuffled  over  to  the  bar,  with  all  the 
comrades  crowding  eagerly  about  him ;  and 
after  the  boards  had  been  wiped  clear  of  dust 
and  moisture,  he  spread  the  precious  paper  out 
on  its  tattered  wrappers. 

"  Uncle   Billy   didn't   write  a   copy   hand, 

boys,"   said  the  old    man,    gloating  over   the 

eager  study  of  the  veterans  as  they  spelled  out 

the  words.      "  My  Frederick    could    'a'    give' 

109 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


him  lessons;  but  there  'tis,  comrades,  an' 
there's  his  whole  name  put  to  it.  If  he  didn't 
write  a  copy  hand,  he  could  command  an  army. 
Uncle  Billy  could." 

The  landlord,  the  blacksmith.  Comrade  Sto- 
ver, and  Comrade  Hitch  of  the  cavalry,  every- 
one a  veteran  of  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee, 
and  Comrade  Cist  from  Georgia,  leaning  on  his 
crutches,  regarded  the  yellow  paper  with  as  much 
reverence  as  if  it  had  been  a  newly  discovered 
chapter  of  the  sacred  Scriptures,  and  in  their 
eyes  Uncle  Obadiah  was  as  big  a  man  as  a 
prophet. 

Each  old  soldier  who  wore  the  bronze  button 
had  something  to  tell  to  the  praise  and  glory 
of  his  old  commander  and  personal  Uncle  Billy, 
and  Private  Obadiah  Brown  told  them  how  in 
'86  he  had  tramped  all  the  way  to  St.  Louis  to 
see  the  general  and  find  out  the  secret  of  his 
boy's  whereabouts,  and  how  his  idol  had  just 
sold  his  Western  home  and  gone  to  live  in  a 
far-off  Eastern  city  ;  how  he  had  been  hoarding 
his  money  ever  since,  what  he  could  save  from 
his  earnings  and  his  pension,  and  how  the  sum 
was  nearly  large  enough  for  the  stupendous  un- 
dertaking of  a  journey  by  rail  to  New  York, 
where  he  very  soon  expected  to  see  his  Uncle 
Billy   face  to  face,  and    to   put  an   end  to   the 


Uncle  OhadiaVs  Uncle  Billy 

mystery  ;  for  he  had  no  doubt  of  the  absolute 
omniscience  of  his  old  commander. 

"Well,  now,  Comrade  Brown,"  said  Com- 
rade Stover,  knocking  the  ash  out  of  his  pipe 
on  the  heel  of  his  cowhide  boot,  ' '  when  you 
git  to  see  old  Uncle  Billy,  you  can  tell  him 
that  when  you  was  out  here  in  Ohio  you  met 
up  with  one  of  the  marchin'  Eighty-first,  an' 
that  his  legs  was  good  as  new." 

"  There  was  a  man  here  a  couple  o'  year 
back,"  said  the  landlord,  leaning  over  the  bar 
until  his  face  was  inscrutable  in  the  shadow, 
"  what  had  been  on  to  New  York,  an'  he  told 
me  that  he  seen  old  Uncle  Billy  a-settin'  in  a 
gold  box  to  the  theatre  with  his  regimentals  on, 
an'  his  yaller  belt,  an'  that  folks  looked  at  the 
gold  box  more'n  they  did  at  the  play.  An' 
how,  by  an'  by,  the  West  Point  cadets,  settin' 
down  below,  jumped  up  an'  hurrahed  for  Gin- 
eral  Sherman,  till  the  play  had  to  stop  whilst 
Uncle  Billy  made  a  speech.  He  said  the  gin- 
eral  talked  to  them  kids  as  plain  as  any  old 
farmer,  givin'  'em  good  advice,  his  little  beads 
o'  eyes  twinklin'  in  his  head,  an'  his  hook-nose 
rangin'  over  his  stubby  white  mustache  an' 
beard,  like  a  ten-pounder  Parrot  squintin'  over 
slashed  timber." 

"  Hooray  !  "  piped  Uncle  Obadiah,  bright- 
III 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 

ening  up  ;  "  they  couldn't  flank  Uncle  Billy  ef 
they  had  him  shet  up  in  a  nest  o'  gold  boxes." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  said  the  landlord  ;  "  ef  old 
Uncle  Billy  hadn't  ordered  them  cadets  to 
keep  quiet,  the  theatre  wouldn't  'a'  been  let 
out  yet." 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  how  kindly  the  old 
soldiers  took  to  Uncle  Obadiah,  and  how  well 
they  agreed  with  one  another,  and,  in  short, 
what  very  mild  old  fellows  they  were,  not\\ith- 
standing  their  youthful  exploits. 

"  It's  gittin'  ruther  late,"  observed  the  tav- 
ern -  keeper  at  last,  turning  down  one  of  the 
dingy  oil  -  lamps  to  emphasize  his  meaning. 
"  Comrade  Brown  ain't  leavin'  us  jest  yet, 
havin'  a  considerable  engagement  'long  o'  the 
town  clock.  When  he  gits  that  strikin'  right 
ag'in.  Hitch  an'  Cist  '11  have  to  go  to  bed  at 
nine,  or  have  a  fallin'  out  with  the  meetin' 
folks." 

So  the  old  comrades  quietly  filed  out  into 
the  night,  leaving  Private  Obadiah  Brown  to 
get  some  needed  rest  before  he  undertook  the 
job  of  mending  in  the  belfry.  While  he  was 
waiting  for  his  host  to  show  him  the  way  to 
bed,  he  fell  to  hstening,  in  a  half-conscious 
way,  to  the  frying  of  the  fat  coal  in  the  grate, 
and  to  the  sound  of  the  rising  wind  outside  as 


Uncle  Obadiab's  Uncle  Billy 


it  rattled  the  wooden  shutters  against  the  win- 
dows. His  chin  was  setthng  on  his  breast  for 
weariness  when  the  stumping  sound  of  a  crutch 
on  the  platform  outside  brought  Iiim  back  to 
himself,  and  the  door  was  gently  pushed  open 
to  admit  the  head  of  Comrade  Cist  from  Geor- 
gia, who  said  that  if  he  should  not  see  him  in 
the  morning  he  reckoned  he  wouldn't  forget  to 
show  the  general  that  letter. 

When  Private  Obadiah  Brown  awoke,  the 
sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  crazy  old 
town  clock  was  striking  two.  It  had  just  got 
on  to  three  bells,  an  hour  later,  when  Comrade 
Stover  drove  by  with  a  wagon-load  of  wood. 

"  It's  a-callin'  to  ye,"  cried  Comrade  Sto- 
ver, gayly  saluting  with  the  stump  of  his  right 
forearm.  "  'Pears  like  it's  ruther  short  o' 
breath,  Comrade  Brown.  Putty  nigh  time  ye 
was  gittin'  yer  invalid  hospital  set  up  in  the 
belfry,  an'  runnin'  out  the  yaller  flag  —  he! 
he  !     The  ball's  open." 

The  sun  was  unusually  warm  for  a  morning 
in  February,  and  the  ice  that  had  beaten  in,  in 
the  form  of  sleet,  and  had  crusted  the  wooden 
shield  above  the  works  of  the  old  clock,  was 
melting  drop  by  drop  and  spattering  on  the 
belfry  floor,  where  Uncle  Obadiah  had  opened 
his   thin   knapsack  and   spread   out    his   small 

113 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 

store  of  professional  tools  and  cords  and  wheels. 
The  air  as  it  came  in  through  the  bhstered 
green  blinds  had  no  power  to  chill  the  thin- 
nest blood  in  the  oldest  veins.  Uncle  Obadiah 
had  climbed  upon  a  short  ladder,  and  beaten 
down  a  last  year's  swallow's  nest  or  two,  be- 
fore he  put  on  his  "  spec's  "  to  take  a  critical 
look  at  the  works  and  to  plan  his  campaign. 
The  ropes  which  held  the  weights  were  cer- 
tainly badly  worn,  and  must  be  replaced  with 
new  ones.  It  taxed  the  old  man's  strength  to 
lift  the  heavy  iron  and  detach  it  from  the  rusty 
hook.  He  had  just  accomplished  the  separa- 
tion, and  held  the  weight  poised  over  the  open- 
ing in  the  floor  cut  away  for  its  natural  descent 
between  the  old  beams  and  braces,  when  the 
urchin  who  had  refused  to  direct  him  to  the 
village  came  clambering  up  the  stairs,  all  out 
of  breath. 

"I  say,  granddad — now — General  Sher- 
man's dead." 

Down  fell  the  iron  weight,  splintering  the 
wood  and  crashing  through  the  plastering,  and 
making  the  old  stairs  rock  and  shiver  as  if  the 
belfry  itself  were  tumbling.  Uncle  Obadiah 
backed  down  until  his  feet  rested  on  the  firm 
boards,  and  glared  through  his  glasses  at  the 
frightened  boy. 

114. 


Uncle  ObadiaVs  Uncle  Billy 


"  You  ought  to  be  whipped,  you  rascal  ! 
I'm  eighty  year " 

"  It's  true,"  said  the  boy.  "  Si  Wilkins, 
the  tavern-keeper,  told  me  to  come  an'  tell 
ye." 

Uncle  Obadiah  tottered  over  to  the  wall, 
and  looked  down  through  the  blinds,  mutter- 
ing in  his  incredulity  as  he  went.  There  stood 
Comrade  Stover's  team  alone  in  the  road.  A 
woman  at  a  house  door  was  shading  her  eyes 
with  her  hand  and  looking  out,  much  as  he 
was.  The  blacksmith,  bareheaded,  was  run- 
ning up  the  path  from  his  shop  with  a  red-hot 
horseshoe  in  his  pincers. 

Uncle  Obadiah  began  to  fear  the  truth,  and 
to  feel  his  way  down  the  rickety  belfry  stairs. 

"  No,  no  !  "  he  muttered  to  himself;  "  he 
was  young,  an'  I'm  risin'  eighty.  Perhaps  ye 
might  'a'  heard  of  a  youngster  by  the  name  of 
Frederick  Brown.      No,  no  !     It  ain't  true." 

The  clock-weight  had  burst  its  way  through 
lath  and  wooden  ceilings,  and  as  the  old  man 
tottered  out  upon  the  sunlit  porch,  it  lay  in  his 
path  on  the  shattered  planks. 

The  railway  ran  through  the  valley,  a  mile 
from  the  village,  but  there  was  no  telegraph- 
operator  at  the  small  station.  The  news  had 
come  over  from  a  neighboring  town,  and  come 

11? 


Uncle  Obadiab's  Uncle  Billy 


so  tardily  that  there  was  a  rumor  of  the  great 
military  funeral  in  New  York,  which  should, 
that  very  morning,  be  passing  down  the  long 
avenue,  between  the  ranks  of  the  uncovered 
multitude,  amidst  the  tolling  of  bells  and  the 
beating  of  muffled  drums,  a  flowing  stream  of 
funeral  dirges.  In  truth,  at  the  very  moment 
when  the  clock-weight  fell  from  the  hand  of 
Uncle  Obadiah,  eight  sergeants  were  raising 
all  that  remained  of  his  Uncle  Billy,  draped 
in  the  folds  of  the  flag  he  had  loved,  to  its  place 
aloft  on  the  caisson  catafalque.  The  artillery 
drivers  were  in  their  saddles  ready  at  the  word 
to  draw  the  caisson  down  the  long  avenue,  as 
a  soldier  should  take  his  last  ride.  The  black 
charger  stood  behind,  and  all  the  city  streets 
for  miles  were  massed  with  posts  of  grizzled 
veterans,  and  the  serried  ranks  of  national 
troops  and  sailors  from  the  fleet,  and  the  brill- 
iant regiments  of  citizen  soldiery,  and  the  his- 
toric corps  of  cadets,  come  to  honor  the  last 
American  general,  whom  they  had  long  re- 
garded as  their  military  father — the  same  Un- 
cle Billy  whom  they  had  cheered  until  they 
■were  hoarse,  in  his  gold  box. 

When  Uncle  Obadiah  shuffled  out  upon  the 
sunlit    porch,    past    the    fallen    clock  -  weight, 
all  this  was  going  on  five  hundred  miles  away, 
116 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


in  the  presence  of  the  President  of  the  Repub- 
lic, the  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the  sena- 
tors and  generals  and  representatives  of  the 
people,  and  Uncle  Obadiah  was  as  unaware 
of  it  all  as  was  Uncle  Billy  himself. 

The  blacksmith  shut  up  his  shop.  Comrade 
Stover  drove  his  empty  wagon  home,  and 
returned  to  the  village.  Comrade  Hitch  of 
the  cavalry  left  his  plough  in  the  furrow,  and 
came  up  to  the  general  rendezvous  with  his 
bronze  star  pinned  to  his  coat.  Si  Wilkins  fur- 
bished up  his  metal  button,  and  bought  some 
yards  of  black  cloth,  with  a  surprising  reckless- 
ness of  cost,  to  drape  the  front  of  his  tavern. 
Comrade  Cist  from  Georgia  covered  up  his 
leather-seated  bench,  and  hobbled  over  to  the 
tavern,  to  find  Uncle  Obadiah  crooning  over 
the  fire,  with  trembling  lips  and  a  dazed  look 
in  his  watery  eyes. 

"I  can't  ever  show  him  the  letter,"  mut- 
tered Uncle  Obadiah  when  he  saw  the  other, 
"nor  yet  the  medal,  give'  from  him  to  me, 
I've  kep'  so  long.  Have  any  of  you  comrades 
heard  of  a  youngster  that  answers  to  the  name 
o'  Frederick  Brown  ?  " 

There  was  no  more  work  for  the  old  com- 
rades that  day,  and  when,  later,  news  came 
that  the  funeral  train  bearing  the  remains  of 
117 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 

their  old  general  was  already  speeding  on  its 
way  from  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  to  the 
shores  of  the  Mississippi,  flying  through  the 
great  cities  and  the  smallest  villages,  and  never 
halting  except  to  exchange  one  powerful  en- 
gine for  another,  and  that  the  way  of  the  swift 
pageant  lay  over  the  line  in  the  valley,  they 
knew  that  Sherman  Post — their  post — would 
come  marching  over  from  the  county  town 
with  all  the  comrades,  and  the  old  flags,  and 
the  fifes  and  drums,  and  they  began  making 
preparations  to  receive  them. 

With  furled  flags  and  more  black  cloth  they 
draped  the  little  railway  station,  and  helped 
Comrade  Si  Wilkins  to  provision  his  tavern  for 
a  larger  crowd  than  it  had  held  for  many  a 
day. 

It  was  a  long  line  of  graybeards  that  flanked 
the  supper- table,  and  the  lamplight  danced 
on  stars  and  medals  and  badges  and  no  end 
of  brass  buttons.  Private  Obadiah  Brown  sat 
at  the  head  of  the  board,  and,  by  way  of  grace, 
asked  if  any  one  of  the  comrades  present  had 
heard  of  "  a  youngster  answerin'  to  the  name 
o'  Frederick  Brown,"  and  ate  but  little,  and 
had  his  knapsack  fetched  from  the  belfry  floor, 
because  he  said  he  should  not  feel  dressed  with- 
out it. 

ii8 


Untie  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 


The  funeral  train  was  full  three  hundred 
miles  away,  and  it  was  early  bedtime,  despite 
the  silence  of  the  village  clock,  when  ranks 
were  formed  in  front  of  the  tavern  door.  Com- 
rade Cist  from  Georgia,  who  couldn't  hope 
to  keep  up  with  the  march,  and  didn't  feel 
sure  that  he  belonged  in  the  column,  together 
with  Uncle  Obadiah,  whose  impatience  out- 
ran that  of  all  the  others,  had  already  started 
on  before.  The  post's  new  banner  was  furled 
and  draped  in  black,  but  the  tattered  old  bat- 
tle-flags, in  all  their  homely  nakedness,  fluttered 
free  beneath  their  old  eagles,  showing  along 
the  frayed-out  stripes  at  least  half  the  letters 
of  each  of  the  famous  battles  of  the  Army  of 
the  Tennessee.  Away  ahead  in  the  darkness 
Comrade  Cist  and  Uncle  Obadiah  heard  the 
regular  thump,  thump  of  the  bass  drum,  and 
held  up  their  heads  and  quickened  their  pace 
with  the  old  instinct  born  of  martial  habit. 

''Jest  to  think,"  said  Uncle  Obadiah,  feel- 
ing his  shuffling  way  in  the  darkness,  "Uncle 
Billy  is  comin'  tearin'  like  them  snortin'  en- 
gines used  to  come  into  a  captured  town, 
loaded  down  with  commissaries." 

"Jest  to  think,"  mused  Comrade  Cist  from 
Georgia,  stumping  on  his  crutches. 

"  An  he  was  a  young  man,"  continued  Un- 
119 


Uncle  ObaJiab's  Uncle  Billv 


cle  Obadiah,  "an'  I'm  turned  of  eighty,  an' 
keepin'  good  time  yet  ;  an'  him — did  I  say 
eighty? — tutt — I'm  only  fifty,  an'  Uncle  Billy 
a  matter  o'  forty.  Harkee,  prisoner,  you'll  see 
a  sight  when  Uncle  Billy  comes,  ridin'  in  front 
of  his  ginerals — mighty  stiff  and  plain  himself, 
but  miles  o'  horses  an'  acres  o'  gold  lace  an' 
plumes  behind  him.  Did  they  say  you  fit  on 
t'other  side  ?  An'  ruther  badly  hurt,  I  guess 
— never  you  worry,  boy  ;  I'll  make  it  right 
with  Uncle  Billy.  I'll  tell  him  how  you  did 
yer  duty  as  you  saw  it,  an'  he'll  send  you  back 
to  hospital." 

"  I'm  much  obleeged,"  said  Comrade  Cist 
from  Georgia. 

"Halt!  Rest!"  commanded  Uncle  Oba- 
diah. "  It's  black  as  cats.  What  regiment  is 
that  a-marchin'  by  ?  It  does  me  good  to  hear 
the  belts  an'  canteens  rattle.  They're  his  sol- 
diers, prisoner,  but  they'll  treat  you  like  a 
prince,  because  you're  hurt.  I  wonder  if  any 
o'  them  comrades  have  heard  of  a  youngster 
that  answers  to  the  name  o'  Frederick  Brown. 
What  matter  ?  Uncle  Billy  is  comin'  to  tell  me 
all  about  it — an'  I'm  eighty — fifty — how  old 
am  I,  comrade?  " 

"  I  reckon  you're  turned  of  eighty,"  said 
Comrade  Cist  from  Georgia. 


Uncle  Obad tab's  Uncle  Billy 


"  It  may  be,"  said  Uncle  Obadiah. 

Before  the  post  drew  up  at  the  station,  a 
cold,  drizzling  rain  had  set  in,  and  the  little 
waiting-room  was  already  filled.  The  way- 
trains  had  passed  ft-om  east  and  west,  bearing 
news  of  what  was  going  on  along  the  line.  To 
the  east,  the  general's  old  veterans  were  massing 
in  city  and  village,  in  the  night  and  in  the 
storm,  baring  their  heads  and  dipping  their 
ragged  flags  to  the  flying  special  as  it  flashed 
through  the  darkness ;  and  to  the  west,  when 
the  day  should  dawn,  the  school-children,  with 
songs  and  winter  flowers,  would  reinforce  the 
Grand  Army. 

The  old  soldiers  built  ruddy  fires  alongside 
the  track,  laying  ruthless  hands  on  broken 
fence-rails  and  discarded  railroad  ties,  and  con- 
structed shelters  from  the  rain  as  promptly  as 
they  had  ever  thrown  up  ten  miles  of  log  and 
earth  breastworks  under  Uncle  Billy's  orders  ; 
and  Private  Obadiah  Brown — six  wounds  and 
one  medal — and  Comrade  Cist  from  Georgia — 
two  crutches  and  one  leg — were  snugly  housed 
in  the  warmest  corner  by  the  first  fire. 

And  so  while  the  silent  sergeants  were  stand- 
ing guard  in  the  draped  funeral  car,  heavy  with 
the  odor  of  flowers,  and  the  rivers  and  towns 
were  flowing  east  under  the  wheels  of  the  glid- 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 

ing  train,  the  simple  veterans,  around  the 
smoky  fires  hissing  with  raindrops,  were  singing 
the  old  songs,  as  they  waited  with  throbbing 
hearts  :  "  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the  boys  are 
marching,"  "■  John  Brown's  body  lies  a-molder- 
ing  in  the  ground,"  and  "  We  are  tenting  to- 
night on  the  old  camp-ground." 

As  the  long  night  wore  on,  each  one  had 
some  story  to  tell  of  the  old  days  ;  and  it  was 
Uncle  Billy  here  and  Uncle  Billy  there — 
Uncle  Billy  in  his  shirt-sleeves  on  the  porch  of 
his  log  hut,  and  Uncle  Billy  at  the  head  of  his 
brilliant  staff,  surrounded  by  his  generals,  and 
all  the  roads  full  of  cavalry,  and  all  the  air  full 
of  music. 

Once  Uncle  Obadiah  fell  asleep,  and  awoke 
with  a  start,  and  with  the  old  question  on  his 
lips,  to  find  the  blacksmith  replenishing  the 
fire,  and  Comrade  Stover  punctuating  his  story 
with  the  stump  of  his  right  arm,  and  Comrade 
Cist  from  Georgia  snoring  lustily  at  his  side. 

"  Somethin'  might  'a'  happened  to  the 
road,"  said  Uncle  Obadiah  ;  "  but  he  wasdref- 
ful  quick  at  buildin'  bridges  an'  layin'  gaps  o' 
track.  Uncle  Billy  ain't  a-travellin'  to-night 
without  a  construction  train  ahead."  And 
then,  laying  his  hand  on  the  blacksmith's  arm, 
"  Don't  let  me  forgit  to  show  him   the  medal 


Uncle  ObadiaJj's  Uncle  Billy 

an'  the  letter  writ  from  him  to  me.  You're 
strong  an'  young,  an'  you  must  make  me  a 
way  through  the  ginerals.  I  must  have  a  word 
with  him,  comrade,  face  to  face.  I've  been 
a-waitin'  thirty  year " 

"  Uncle  Obadiah  ain't  jest  awake  yit,"  ob- 
served Comrade  Stover. 

"  He's  gone  clean  daft,  has  Comrade 
Brown,"  said  the  blacksmith,  dropping  the 
heavy  stick  he  held  over  the  hissing  fire,  and 
standing  stiff  and  black  against  the  leaping 
flames.  And  then,  in  a  louder  tone:  "This 
here  is  a  bad  storm.  Comrade  Brown  ;  have  ye 
made  out  to  keep  dry  and  warm  ?  ' ' 

"  I've  seen  worse,"  said  Uncle  Obadiah. 
"I've  seen  worse.  There  was  Kenesaw  an'  the 
storm  o'  Vicksburg.  What  are  we  lyin'  here 
for?"  cried  the  old  man,  starting  to  his  feet. 
"  We'll  have  our  orders  quick  enough  when 
Uncle  Billy  gits  here.  Have  you  heard  the 
batteries  yet,  boys  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  the  batteries,"  said  the  black- 
smith, putting  out  his  strong  arm  to  restrain 
Private  Obadiah  Brown,  who  would  have  gone 
out  into  the  rain.  "  The  colonel's  got  his 
orders.  We're  to  lay  right  here  till  Uncle 
Billy  comes.  Didn't  you  see  the  orderly  ride 
by?" 

123 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billv 


"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Uncle  Obadiah  ;  "I 
heard  his  sabre  jingle,  an'  the  spatter  of  the 
water  as  his  horse  trotted  past.  I  thought  I 
saw  the  yellow  envelope  stuffed  underneath  his 
belt." 

"  So  you  did,"  said  the  blacksmith,  as  he 
and  Comrade  Stover  gently  forced  the  old  man 
back  to  his  seat.  "We're  to  stay  right  here 
till  Uncle  Billy  comes.     Them's  his  orders." 

"  His  orders,"  muttered  Uncle  Obadiah, 
calming  down  with  that  assurance.  "  He 
won't  be  far  behind  his  orders.  I'll  lay  down 
alongside  my  prisoner,  here,  till  the  doctors 
come.     They  can't  flank  Uncle  Billy." 

So  the  old  man  fell  asleep  with  a  childish 
trust  in  his  great  commander ;  and  that  he 
might  get  the  rest  his  old  bones  needed,  his 
comrades  talked  in  lower  tones  around  the  fire. 
Uncle  Obadiah  was  not  the  only  veteran  asleep 
beside  the  fires,  for  the  vigil  had  been  a  long 
one,  and  although  the  rain  was  falling  steadily, 
there  was  just  a  perceptible  graying  of  the  dark- 
ness which  betokened  the  near  approach  of  day. 

Hark  !     Miles  to  the  east,  where  the  next 

town  lies,  they  hear  the  prolonged  scream  of  a 

locomotive.     Promptly  the  drum  beats,  but  not 

so  fast  as  the  thumping  hearts  of  the  old  soldiers. 

124 


Uncle  Obadiah's  Uncle  Billy 

"  That's  Uncle  Billy  coming,"  breaks  from 
every  lip,  and  then  every  lip  is  still. 

To  the  bugle  blowing  the  "assembly,"  the 
veterans  fall  silently  in  line,  dressed  on  the  old 
flags  at  the  centre,  the  fires  burning  brightly 
behind  them,  and  the  rain  falling  steadily  upon 
them.  Each  man  is  thinking  his  own  thoughts. 
In  the  distance  they  hear  the  rolUng  of  the 
train,  but  the  sound  is  scarcely  louder  than  the 
hissing  of  the  raindrops  on  the  fires,  or  the 
tinkling  of  the  bronze  stars  against  the  medals. 

Now  it  has  turned  the  wall  of  the  intervening 
mountain.  The  great  engine  pants  in  furious 
crescendo.  The  swelling  roar  of  the  monster 
is  like  the  coming  of  a  great  shell.  The  daz- 
zling headlight  glares  through  the  trees.  The 
iron  rails,  wet  and  slippery,  turn  to  parallels  of 
glittering  gold.  As  if  it  were  the  passing  spirit 
of  their  great  commander,  the  fierce  light  flashes 
along  the  ranks  of  his  old  veterans,  gleaming 
for  an  instant  on  bared  heads  and  tearful  faces, 
and  gilding  once  more  the  fragmentary  names 
of  his  battles  on  their  ragged  standards,  and 
then  leaves  the  old  line  in  redoubled  darkness. 

And,  through  it  all,  there  are  two  beside  the 
fires  whom  the  bugles  and  the  drum- beats  fail  to 
awaken.  Of  the  two  only  one  can  be  aroused, 
and  that  one  Comrade  Cist  from  Georgia. 

1-5 


The  Missing  Evidence  in 
''  The  People  vs,  Dangerking  " 


THE    MISSING    EVIDENCE    IN    "THE 
PEOPLE    FS.    DANGERKING" 


IN  the  spring  of  1891,  after  having  spent  the 
month  of  February  in  a  run  through 
southern  Italy  with  my  photographic  outfit,  I 
had  returned  to  Rome  with  ten  days  at  my  dis- 
posal before  my  train  left  for  Naples,  where  I 
had  taken  my  return  passage  for  New  York.  I 
had  arrived  in  the  night,  and  after  sleeping 
until  a  rather  late  hour  in  the  morning,  had 
breakfasted  in  my  room,  so  that  it  must  have 
been  something  after  ten  o'clock  when,  camera 
in  hand,  I  descended  to  the  lobby  of  the  hotel. 
After  glancing  at  the  register  I  seated  myself 
before  an  open  window  and  looked  out  on  the 
modern  Roman  Concourse,  with  the  comfort- 
able indifference  of  an  experienced  traveller, 
whose  itinerary  is  irrevocably  fixed  to  his  entire 
satisfaction.  If  I  felt  any  personal  anxiety  it 
was  in  no  degree  disquieting,  and  related  only 
to  the  artistic  quality  of  the  exposures  I  had 
129 


"  The  People  vs.  Daugerkiug" 


made,  and  to  the  possibilities  of  the  develop- 
ments with  which  I  jiroposed  to  electrify  my 
fellow-amateurs  of  the  Club  on  my  return. 

I  was  lazily  considering  where  I  should  go 
for  the  day,  in  search  of  picturesque  effects  of 
light  and  shade  nestling  in  environments  suited 
to  my  taste,  with  entire  indifference  to,  nay, 
even  with  a  sort  of  professional  contempt  for, 
the  historic  monuments  of  the  Eternal  City, 
preferring  a  sleepy  donkey  in  transparent  half- 
lights,  to  the  architectural  glories  of  St.  Peter's, 
when  I  realized  that  a  figure  had  crossed  the 
marble  pavement  and  was  standing  at  my  side. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  stranger,  in 
a  pleasant  voice;  "you  are  Dr.  Lattimer,  of 
the  Amateur  Photographers'  Society  of  New 
York.  I  am  Philip  Coe,  of  St.  Louis.  I  saw 
your  Japanese  work  last  winter  at  the  Club's 
exhibition,  and  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Philip  Coe  and  I  shook 
hands,  exchanged  cards,  and  sat  down  to  an 
animated  discussion  of  developers  and  solutions 
and  improved  lenses,  as  if  we  had  been  known 
to  each  other  for  years  instead  of  for  minutes. 
My  new-found  enthusiast  was  rather  a  hand- 
some man,  of  rising  thirty,  a  decided  blond, 
of  an  easy  and  affable  manner,  unimpeachable 
costume,  and  having  a  clear  gray  eye  which  be- 
130 


"  Tbe  People  vs.  Danger  king  " 

tokens  that  order  of  quick  intelligence  which 
forms  conclusions  intuitively  and  acts  promptly 
— in  short,  a  man  who,  to  use  an  Americanism, 
rarely  "  gets  left  "  in  his  combinations. 

I  am  a  particular  admirer  of  that  sort  of  man. 
I  pride  myself  on  keeping  my  faculties  well  in 
hand,  such  as  they  are,  and  acting  in  an  emer- 
gency without  any  unnecessary  delay.  This 
similarity  of  temperament,  then,  together  with 
similarity  of  pursuits,  in  our  vacation  time, 
commended  Mr.  Philip  Coe,  of  St.  Louis,  to 
my  esteem  and  approval,  and  his  pleasant,  un- 
obtrusive ways  lent  themselves  to  the  daily  im- 
provement of  our  agreeable  relations  during 
that  week  which  we  spent  together  in  Rome. 
His  collection  of  work  was  a  very  creditable 
one,  and  in  the  professional  excursions  we  took 
together  I  was  greatly  impressed  with  the  clev- 
erness he  evinced  in  seizing  the  happy  instant 
in  a  moving  composition,  and  the  entire  ab- 
sence of  that  unfortunate  hesitancy  which  too 
often  renders  the  most  experienced  amateur  a 
thought  too  late  in  his  exposure.  My  com- 
panion was  ahvaj's  perfectly  cool,  with  plenty 
of  nerve  and  no  perceptible  nerves,  and  I  ad- 
mired him  for  that  distinguishing  peculiarity. 

He  confided  to  me  that  he  had  been  in- 
terested in  photography  but  little  more  than  a 

131 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger hing" 


year.  Having  concluded  a  remarkably  success- 
ful operation  in  stocks,  he  had  retired  from 
active  business,  and  come  abroad  for  the  un- 
disturbed enjoyment  of  his  new  fad,  in  which 
he  was  ambitious  to  distinguish  himself;  and 
when  he  returned  to  America,  he  should  rely 
on  my  friendly  offices  to  make  him  a  member 
of  the  New  York  Society. 

I  had  arranged  to  return  to  Naples  to  take 
my  steamer,  and  to  go  down  leisurely  by  rail 
the  day  before  she  sailed. 

Philip  Coe  had  set  no  definite  time  for  his 
return  to  America,  but  would  be  off  in  a  few 
days  for  a  flying  visit  to  Algeria,  and  then  it 
was  his  purpose  to  push  up  into  Polish  Russia 
for  part  of  the  .summer.  At  all  events,  with 
his  admirable  photographic  outfit  and  his  pro- 
fessional enthusiasm,  I  expected  great  things  of 
his  summer's  work,  which  he  would  bring  home 
before  the  winter  meetings  of  the  Society.  He 
was  altogether  such  a  cool  customer,  so  full  of 
resource  and  tact  and  cleverness,  that  I  had  no 
fear  for  him  on  the  burning  sands  of  Africa  or 
among  the  petty  civil  officers  of  the  Czar,  and 
I  only  ventured  to  advise  him  to  avoid  the 
neighborhood  of  military  works  as  he  would 
shun  the  plague. 

On   the  evening  before  we  separated,  as  we 

132 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 

were  lingering  together  over  a  last  bottle  of 
Asti  Spumanti  in  the  Trattorea  Fiorelli,  which 
had  come  to  be  a  favorite  resort  in  our  wander- 
ings about  Rome,  my  companion  said:  "By 
the  way,  Doctor,  one  never  knows  what  those 
Muscovite  officials  may  do  in  the  way  of  seizing 
on  a  man's  valuables.  I  have  a  paper  in  my 
pocket  which  I  would  be  obliged  to  you  if  you 
would  take  charge  of  until  I  see  you  in  New 
York."  He  searched  the  paper  out  from 
among  others  in  his  pocket-book  and  passed  it 
over  to  me.  La  padrona  brought  an  envelope 
in  which  I  sealed  up  the  paper,  and  Philip  Coe 
wrote  his  name  and  the  date  across  the  end  of 
the  package,  and  soon  after  we  turned  out  of 
No.  4  Via  Colonnetti  and  made  our  way  in  the 
moonlight  across  the  Corso  and  through  the 
quaint  streets  leading  to  our  hotel. 

On  the  following  day  but  one,  I  boarded  the 
Utopia  at  Naples  en  route  for  New  York.  The 
prospective  passage  was  not  wildly  entrancing, 
with  only  seventeen  cabin  passengers  on  board 
and  more  than  eight  hundred  emigrants  in  the 
steerage. 

We  had  fair  weather  and  an  uneventful  pas- 
sage until  the  afternoon  of  Tuesday,  March 
17  th,  when  the  ship  began  to  labor  heavily 
against  head  -  winds  and   high   seas.      Despite 


The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


the  rain  which  was  driving  in  our  teeth,  I 
kept  the  deck  until  the  great  mass  of  Gibraltar 
loomed  vaguely  through  the  thick  atmosphere 
off  our  starboard  bow,  and  then,  learning  that 
the  Captain  had  decided  to  stand  into  the 
harbor  and  lie  by  until  morning,  I  retired  to 
my  cabin.  It  was  now  growing  dark,  but  the 
lights  were  burning  in  the  gangways  and  all 
was  quiet  below  decks.  I  hoped  the  sky  would 
clear  by  morning,  so  that  I  could  try  my 
camera  on  the  famous  fortress  as  well  as  on 
some  of  the  English  ironclads  at  anchor  in  the 
harbor. 

The  bullseyes  were  closed,  and  the  spume 
and  spray  were  so  thick  outside  that  nothing 
could  be  seen  beyond  the  streaming  glass,  and 
although  the  ship  trembled  from  stem  to  stern 
as  she  labored  against  wind  and  current,  I  had 
such  implicit  confidence  in  the  skill  of  her  of- 
ficers and  crew  that  I  stretched  myself  on  my 
berth  with  something  of  the  comfortable  feeling 
of  a  man  before  a  glowing  fire  listening  to  the 
rain  beating  on  the  roof  and  to  the  wind  howl- 
ing in  the  chimney.  My  eye  fell  on  the  par- 
ticular leather  bag  in  which  I  had  packed  my 
precious,  undeveloped  negatives,  standing  on 
the  floor  over  against  the  side  of  the  ship,  and 
lulled  by  the  music  of  the  storm,  my  imagina- 

134 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 


tion  was  revelling  in  the  gradual  development 
of  the  latent  images  imprisoned  on  the  surfaces 
of  those  magical  dry  plates.     The  atmosphere 
of  my  state-room  was   more  than  comfortably 
warm,  and  I  had  removed  my  shoes  and  outer 
clothing  the   more  perfectly  to  yield  myself  to 
the  luxury  of  my  surroundings.     The  laboring 
of  the  ship  was  indicated  by  such  regularity  of 
beating  against  head-seas,  and  such  a  soothing 
monotony    of  shivering   throes    that,   when    a 
thud  broke   the  uniformity  of  sound  followed 
by  an  entire  change  of  motion  and  scurrying 
of  feet  on  the  deck  above,  I  sprang  out  of  my 
berth    thoroughly  alarmed,   opened  my   door, 
and  stepped  into  the  gangway.     I  had  caught 
up  a  heavy  storm  ulster,  and  turning  this  about 
me  as  I  ascended  to  the  deck,  regardless  of  my 
stockinged   feet,  I  looked   out  into   the  pelting 
rain.     The  blanched  face  of  one  of  the  officers 
as  he  hurried  past  me   into  the  spume,  which 
rendered   objects  at  a  few  paces  invisible,  con- 
firmed  my  worst  fears,  and    going  quickly  to 
the  side  of  the  ship,  which  was  for  the  moment 
ominously  steady,  I  looked   over  the  rail.     By 
instinct   or  by  accident,  I    had  arrived  directly 
over  the   point  of  contact  where  the  invisible 
monster   had  pierced  the  side  of  the  Utopia, 
and  indistinct  as  my  vision  was,  I  could  see  a 

135 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


vast  dark  cavity  in  the  hull  into  which  the 
whole  broadside  of  the  sea  was  pouring  like  a 
maelstrom.  It  may  have  been  three  minutes 
after  the  first  shock  of  the  collision,  and  while 
I  moved  forward  by  an  instinct  of  repulsion 
from  the  inflowing  torrent,  when  I  thought  I 
felt  a  perceptible  settling  of  the  ship.  In  the 
direction  of  what  I  believed  to  be  the  shore,  a 
wet  light  made  a  soft  yellowish  spot  in  the 
blanket  of  spray.  I  remember  with  awful  dis- 
tinctness the  sounds  that  greeted  my  ears,  in 
which  the  throb  of  the  engines  had  no  part,  and 
the  thoughts  that  flashed  through  my  brain 
while  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  warmth  of 
that  vague  light.  A  babel  of  terrified  voices 
rose  from  between  decks,  dulled  in  volume  by 
the  wind  and  rain.  There  was  a  sharp  rattle 
like  the  passing  of  wheels,  for  which  I  can  sug- 
gest no  explanation,  and  suddenly  I  seemed  to 
see  the  clear  gray  eyes  of  Philip  Coe  fixed  on 
mine. 

There  was  another  movement  of  the  deck 
under  my  feet,  I  swung  myself  to  the  starboard 
rail  by  the  foremast  shrouds,  and  plunged  out- 
ward into  the  sea. 

I  remember  the  cold,  strangling  shock  as  my 
l)ody  struck  the  water,  the  prickling  sensation 
in  my  nose,  the  utter  blackness  instead  of  the 
136 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 

usual  cool  green  color  of  the  sea  as  I  looked 

about  me  with  wide-open  eyes,  while  for  an  in- 
stant I  stood  upright,  poised  in  its  depth,  and 
then  the  buoyant  sensation  of  rising  to  the  sur- 
face, which  I  hastened  by  a  famiUar  movement 
of  the  hands.  As  my  head  popped  above  the 
water  a  blinding  sheet  of  spray  struck  me  in 
the  face  like  a  whip-lash.  Remembering  that 
the  ship  had  been  steaming  against  a  head-wind, 
blowing  from  nearly  due  east,  I  laid  my  course 
to  the  right  across  that  of  the  wind,  and  turn- 
ing my  face  away  from  the  blowing  spray,  I 
swam  with  an  easy  stroke  in  what  I  believed  to 
be  the  direction  of  the  shore.  It  was  a  scud- 
ding rather  than  a  high  sea,  and  with  the  back 
of  my  head  laid  over  against  the  gusts  of  salt 
spume,  I  could  breathe  easily  and  had  perfect 
confidence  in  my  abihty  to  sustain  myself  for  a 
half-hour,  if  I  could  hold  out  so  long  against 
the  chilling  influence  of  the  March  sea.  I  was 
so  little  disturbed  in  mind,  that  I  distinctly 
remember  the  grotesque  thought  coming  to  me 
for  the  first  time,  that  the  day  was  the  famous 
anniversary  of  St.  Patrick.  I  thought  I  heard 
the  splash  of  someone  swimming  behind  me, 
but  it  was  now  so  dark  that  I  could  scarcely  see 
my  length  into  the  scud  and  gloom.  I  called 
twice,  but  got  no  answer.      I  had  either  been 

137 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 

mistaken  or  the  other  unfortunate  had  yielded 
to  the  waves,  and  gone  down  to  a  watery  grave 
at  the  bottom  of  that  treacherous  sea.  The 
thought  was  anything  but  reassuring,  and  as  I 
already  began  to  feel  the  benumbing  effect  of 
the  cold,  I  inflated  my  lungs  to  their  utmost 
and  kicked  my  feet  together  to  keep  up  circu- 
lation. 

Suddenly  a  strong  light  shot  over  the  water 
from  my  right,  defining  a  broad  bar  across  the 
mist,  and  by  the  time  I  had  turned  to  swim  in 
that  direction,  a  still  brighter  light  shot  out 
from  the  very  course  I  had  abandoned.  I 
knew  that  these  were  search-lights  from  the 
English  iron-clads  at  anchor  in  the  roadstead. 
The  friendly  bars  of  light  shifted  about  and  in- 
creased in  number,  and  desperate  as  my  situa- 
tion was,  brought  to  mind  the  bars  of  electric 
light  lying  out  from  the  tower  of  Madison 
Square  Garden  on  election  night.  Under  their 
combined  influence  the  surface  of  the  sea  took 
on  a  ghostly  illumination,  enabling  me  to  look 
about  me  for  some  distance,  although  I  could 
discern  nothing  in  the  direction  Avhence  the 
lights  came.  Just  then  I  again  heard  the  puff- 
ing of  the  swimmer  behind  me.  I  looked  over 
my  shoulder.  A  horribly  black  head  protruded 
above  the  water,  .set   with   two  gleaming  eyes 

138 


■'  The  People  vs.  Dangerkiiig" 


which  suggested  some  sea-monster  rather  than  a 
fellow-man.  In  another  moment  I  recognized 
it  as  the  head  of  a  dog,  and  when  presently  it 
came  alongside  as  if  craving  human  help,  or  at 
least  human  companionship,  I  found  myself  in 
the  company  of  a  huge  Newfoundland.  His 
great  brown  eyes  were  full  of  appealing  light, 
and  turned  on  me  as  if  he  would  have  licked 
my  face.  I  threw  my  arm  over  his  neck,  and 
called  him  "old  chap,"  and  I  am  sure  we 
both  felt  better  after  that  exchange  of  civilities. 
Stupid  fellow  that  he  was,  he  seemed  to  think 
that  a  little  of  my  weight  thrown  across  his 
shaggy  shoulders  insured  his  safety,  and  I  felt  that 
while  I  accepted  his  help  for  the  time  being,  an 
opportunity  would  soon  come  when  my  good 
offices  would  be  a  sufficient  return  therefor.  It 
was  no  longer  a  question  of  swimming  only,  but 
of  endurance  against  the  benumbing  sea.  I  felt 
that  I  was  growing  weak.  I  knew  my  compan- 
ion would  endure  the  cold  longer  than  I  could. 
A  strong  current  was  drifting  us  along  under 
the  brightest  bar  of  light.  I  thought  I  saw 
something  of  the  hull  and  spars  of  a  great  ship 
close  in  front  of  us.  I  cried  aloud  for  help.  I 
hooked  my  arm  more  tightly  about  the  neck  of 
the  dog.  I  thought  I  saw  a  movement  close 
upon  us  and  then  I  lost  consciousness,  overcome 

139 


The  People  vs.  Dmigerking  " 


by  the  cold  and  exertion.  I  felt  no  sense  of 
giving  up  or  yielding  to  despair,  but  rather 
that  I  was  falling  into  the  arms  of  some  myste- 
rious power  to  which  I  shifted  all  responsibility, 
so  that,  when  I  returned  to  consciousness,  I  was 
not  in  the  least  surprised  to  find  myself  snugly 
tucked  away  in  a  bunk  of  H.  M.  S.  Camper- 
down.  My  first  inquiry  was  for  the  fate  of  my 
swimming  mate,  who  spoke  for  himself,  project- 
ing his  great  paws  on  the  bed  and  making  va- 
rious dumb  signs  of  joy  at  my  awakening.  The 
delightful  sense  of  warmth  enveloping  body  and 
brain  seemed  to  represent  the  sum  of  all  earthly 
bliss,  and  I  straightway  fell  off  into  a  deep  sleep 
which  lasted  for  twelve  hours,  so  that,  when  I 
awoke  again  it  was  late  in  the  day  following 
the  disaster,  and  the  small  proportion  of  the 
rescued  to  the  number  of  souls  on  board  the  ill- 
fated  ship,  was  already  cared  for. 

A  rather  nondescript  suit  of  clothing  lay 
across  the  foot  of  my  bunk,  consisting  in  part  of 
a  pair  of  sailor's  blue  trousers,  a  steamer  cap, 
and  a  coat  and  vest  of  pepper-and-salt  mixture, 
each  garment  in  its  own  humorous  way  contrib- 
uting to  the  totality  of  a  rather  ludicrous  misfit. 
As  I  made  my  way  to  the  gun-deck,  accompa- 
nied by  the  stately  Newfoundland,  and  into  the 
presence  of  her  Majesty's  officers,  chagrin  at  my 

140 


"  The  People  vs.  Datigerking" 

personal  appearance  nearly  overcame  that  more 
becoming  sense  of  gratitude  due  to  my  deliv- 
erers. 

I  had  little  time  or  inclination  to  think  of 
my  losses  until  after  I  had  been  ashore  on  the 
following  morning,  and  telegraphed  in  a  round- 
about way  to  New  York  for  funds.  First  of  all, 
and  most  deplorable,  there  were  my  precious 
negatives  stowed  away  in  the  leather  bag,  only 
so  many  pieces  of  worthless  glass.  A  clear 
actinic  light,  such  as  I  delighted  to  operate  in, 
bathed  the  straggling  town  lying  under  the 
great  honeycombed  rock,  and  sparkled  on  the 
now  placid  harbor  where  the  vessels  of  the  Chan- 
nel fleet  rode  at  anchor  ;  but,  alas  !  my  camera 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  The  main  spars 
of  the  Utopia  were  just  showing  above  the 
wreck,  about  which  there  was  a  congregation 
of  boats,  and  divers  were  busily  searching  for 
bodies. 

As  I  looked,  later  in  the  day,  from  the  bridge 
of  the  Camperdo\\-ii  across  the  water  to  this 
scene  of  submarine  industry,  the  thought  of  the 
scrap  of'  paper  committed  to  my  care  by  Philip 
Coe,  came  for  the  first  time  to  my  mind,  and  I 
remembered  that  I  had  placed  the  envelope  in 
the  leather  bag  with  the  negatives.  I  would  at 
least  make  an  effort  to  rescue  this  property  of 
141 


The  People  vs.  Danger  king 


my  friend,  and  I  turned  away  in  search  of  the 
officer  of  the  deck.  I  had  no  money  to  employ 
a  diver  for  this  service,  but  just  here  several  of 
her  Majesty's  young  officers  came  to  my  aid, 
and  not  caring  myself  to  pay  a  personal  visit  to 
the  ghastly  scenes  about  the  wreck,  the  very 
obliging  officers  despatched  a  messenger,  to 
whom  I  furnished  in  writing  the  number  of  my 
state-room,  together  with  the  location  and  a 
description  of  the  bag  containing  the  negatives, 
which  was  successfully  recovered. 

The  action  of  the  salt-water  on  the  envelope 
had  been  such  that  directly  it  was  exposed  to 
the  sun  it  opened  of  itself,  the  triangular  lap 
curling  up  slowly  as  if  it  had  been  some  species 
of  shell-fish,  and  to  hasten  the  process  of  drying 
I  took  out  the  inclosure  and  spread  it  on  the 
deck.  It  was  simply  a  receipt  for  a  package 
left  at  the  office  of  the  Astor  House  in  New 
York,  to  be  delivered  to  the  bearer  whose  name 
was  written  across  the  sealed  opening  of  the 
package  aforesaid.  This  was  the  gist  of  the 
statement  contained  in  a  somewhat  more  elab- 
orate printed  form. 

I  remained  on  board  the  Camperdown  just 
long  enough  to  complete  the  process  of  drying, 
reseal  the  envelope,  indorsed  by  Philip  Coe, 
pitch   my  precious   negatives  into  the  sea,  and 

142 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


all  hope  of  triumph  at  the  club  along  with 
them,  kick  the  sodden  bag  under  a  gun  carri- 
age, and  confer  on  my  dog  the  high-sounding 
and  warlike  name  of  Camperdown,  in  return 
for  the  hospitality  of  her  Majesty's  gallant 
officers.  The  bestowal  of  the  name  was  a  part- 
ing impulse  of  gratitude  which  was  all  the  re- 
turn I  could  make  for  my  generous  entertain- 
ment and  my  ill-fitting  clothes,  and  directly 
thereafter,  Camperdown  and  my  more  insignifi- 
cant self  were  piped  over  the  side  of  her 
Majesty's  ironclad  and  rowed  in  great  state  to 
the  steamer  provided  by  the  Anchor  line  to 
convey  the  survivors  of  the  wreck  to  Liverpool, 
where  we  should  meet  the  Furnessia  bound  tor 
New  York. 


143 


II 


AT  Liverpool  I  found  funds  awaiting  me  in 
response  to  my  telegram  from  Gibral- 
tar, and  as  I  had  four  days  on  my  hands  before 
the  departure  of  the  Furnessia,  having  secured 
my  cabin  I  concluded  to  run  up  to  London 
and  relit.  After  purchasing  my  railway  ticket 
I  telegraphed  Philip  Coe  of  my  arrival  in  Liver- 
pool, and  informed  him  that  the  paper  he  had 
committed  to  my  care  was  still  in  my  custody. 

Every  newspaper  account  of  the  loss  of  the 
Utopia  had  mentioned  my  name  and  that  of 
the  Newfoundland  dog  as  the  sole  survivors 
among  the  cabin  passengers  of  that  ill-fated 
ship,  and  Camperdown  and  I  were  the  ac- 
knowledged heroes  of  that  newspaper  week.  I 
was  satisfied  that  my  friend  was  aware  of  my 
existence,  and  I  only  wished  to  apprise  him  of 
the  safety  of  his  bit  of  property. 

As  soon  as  I  had  inscribed  my  name  on  the 

register  of  my  hotel  at  London  the  clerk  handed 

me  a  telegram,  and  as  I  smoothed  it  out  on  the 

office  counter,  he  remarked,  with  surprising  lo- 

144 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger kifig" 

quacity  for  one  of  his  kind,  "  That's  a  rawther 
long  wire,  Doctor." 

The  telegram  was  rather  long,  for  a  man 
without  any  luggage,  and  not  over-well  dressed 
at  that,  but  it  was  from  Coe,  who  was  profuse 
in  his  congratuladons  on  my  safety  and,  with 
his  characteristic  modesty,  not  a  word  was  said 
about  the  paper  he  had  committed  to  my  care 
for  safe-keeping. 

I  have  neglected  to  state  that  before  leaving 
Liverpool  I  had  placed  Camperdown  in  the 
care  of  the  steward  on  board  the  Furnessia, 
making  every  provision  for  his  security  and 
comfort.  We  had  become  such  great  friends, 
on  short  acquaintance,  that  I  am  free  to  con- 
fess that,  on  my  part,  the  parting  was  a  serious 
one,  and  as  I  looked  into  his  great  wondering 
eyes  as  the  steward  held  him  back  by  his  chain, 
I  felt  that  I  was  leaving  behind  a  creature  al- 
most human  in  his  affection,  for  whom  I  felt 
something  nearer  to  love  than  I  at  present  at- 
tached to  any  other  man,  woman,  or  dog  in  the 
world. 

As  I  seated  myself  in  my  compartment  of 
the  London  and  Liverpool  train,  absolutely 
empty-handed,  without  so  much  as  an  umbrella 
or  an  extra  coat,  I  felt  the  momentary  shock  of 
the   man   who   has    forgotten    something :  and 

145 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

then  the  absurdity  of  my  situation,  in  its  hu- 
morous aspect,  forced  itself  upon  me.  My 
elaborate  photographic  outfit,  and  every  change 
of  clothing  I  had  possessed  were  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,  and  there  I  sat  (I  stood  to  one  side 
for  the  moment  regarding  my  real  self  as  an 
amusing  outside  entity  of  the  third  person),  a 
man  who  would  be  known  at  sight  for  an 
American  going  up  to  London  in  a  first-class 
carriage,  as  it  were,  sucking  his  thumbs.  I 
felt  an  uncomfortable  desire  to  clutch  some- 
thing, and  so  it  came  about  that  I  wandered 
out  to  the  platform  and  fastened  to  a  novel  to 
bear  me  company. 

On  my  return  I  observed  that  an  elderly 
gentleman  and  a  young  girl,  evidently  his 
daughter,  had  taken  the  opposite  seat  in  the 
compartment.  My  first  feeling  was  vexation  at 
my  stupidity  in  not  having  engaged  the  whole 
place  for  myself,  as  I  am  rather  particular  about 
my  dress,  and  to  be  under  the  scrutiiiy  of  a 
handsome  young  woman,  herself  faultlessly  clad, 
was  not  a  situation  to  my  liking. 

Then,  too,  the  book  I  had  purchased  proved 
to  be  a  dull  one,  and  industriously  as  I  per- 
sisted in  reading  it,  I   was  unable  to  exclude 
from  my  eai^s  the  conversation  of  my  travelling- 
companions. 

146 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king'' 

They  were  Americans,  and  it  soon  became 

evident  that  we  should  be  fellow-passengers  on 
the  Furnessia.  The  girl  was  really  beautiful 
without  appearing  to  be  conscious  of  it,  but  her 
devotion  to  her  father,  who  seemed  to  be  ail- 
ing, had  about  it  a  charm  so  far  beyond  per- 
sonal comeliness  that  I  found  myself  reading 
page  after  page  of  my  book  on  which  my  com- 
panions figured  as  characters  against  a  printed 
background  of  absolute  vacuity.  There  was 
apparently,  too,  a  great  deal  more  about  Lon- 
don tailors  and  bootmakers  in  that  obliging 
book  than  the  author  had  put  there,  and  I  se- 
cretly hoped  that  I  should  not  be  identified 
with  the  very  correctly  attired  young  gentle- 
man, whom  I  saw  in  imagination  on  the  deck 
of  the  Furnessia,  and  whom  I  was  vaguely 
planning  to  array  in  sober,  well  -  fitting  gar- 
ments such  as  would  meet  the  approval  of  the 
well-bred  female  person  who  sat  opposite  me. 

I  was  getting  on  surprisingly  fast,  and  if  hon- 
est Camperdown  had  been  aware  of  the  state  of 
my  mind,  he  would  have  been  consumed  with 
jealousy.  I  listened  to  the  low,  musical  voice 
whose  caressing  tones  clung  about  the  girl's 
silent,  elderly  companion,  and  filled  the  car- 
riage with  the  soothing  melody  of  a  song  of 
home.     As  for  my  book,  the  tamer  it  got  the 

147 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king  " 

harder  I  read  it.  The  story  (between  the  lines) 
skipped  over  seas,  from  continent  to  continent 
at  the  will  of  the  musical  voice.  It  treated  of 
the  city  of  Charleston  and  of  a  school  girl's 
remembrances  of  the  great  earthquake,  and  as 
the  voice  flowed  on,  the  vague  figures  of  the 
friends  of  the  voice  glided  behind  the  vaguer 
print  of  the  book  in  an  entertaining  panorama. 
I  turned  the  page  to  plunge  into  the  heart  of 
Paris,  and  then  travelled  up  into  Switzerland 
and  slid  gently  down  to  Rome  (where  there 
was  just  a  paragraph  in  parenthesis  about  Philip 
Coe),  and  then  we  drifted  out  to  sea  with  only 
one  woman  on  the  great  liner,  and  then 
dropped  down  at  the  old  New  York  Hotel  just 
as  the  train  rumbled  into  the  gloom  of  the 
London  station,  where  the  yellow  lamps  were 
blinking  outside  in  the  mist. 

The  door  of  the  compartment  was  thrown 
open  and  I  found  myself  standing  on  the  flag- 
ging of  the  station  gazing  after  the  forms  of  my 
two  companions,  with  whom  I  had  not  ex- 
changed a  word,  now  rapidly  fading  into  the 
fog.  I  must  have  cut  a  highly  eccentric  figure, 
in  my  semi-nautical  togs,  with  the  entertaining 
book  open  in  my  hand  and  perfectly  oblivious 
to  the  bustle  about  me. 

"  Any  luggage,  sir?  "  cried  cabby. 
148 


The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


"  Yes,  there's  a  camera  and  a  paper." 

"  Whereabouts,  sir  ?  " 

' '  At  the  bottom  of  the  Mediterranean — state- 
room 59." 

"  See  here,  my  man,"  I  interrupted  myself, 
"  are  you  talking  to  me  ?  There's  no  baggage 
— luggage.      Drive  me  to  a  hotel." 

"  Which  one,  your  honor  ?  " 

"Anyone,"  said  I,  and  carefully  putting  the 
interesting  book  into  my  pocket,  I  sprang  into 
the  cab  with  a  new  consciousness  that  there  was 
something  the  matter  with  me.  And  then  I 
put  out  my  head  and  designated  my  hotel,  and 
so  it  came  about  that  I  was  landed  at  the 
proper  place  to  meet  Philip  Coe's  telegram. 

Four  days,  just  then,  was  a  weary  time  in  the 
wilderness  of  London,  but  I  pulled  myself  to- 
gether and  fought  a  gallant  fight  against  large 
plaids  ai:id  polka-dot  neckerchiefs,  and  in  the 
fulness  of  time  I  was  trundled  on  board  the 
Furnessia,  with  just  enough  boxes  to  render  me 
respectable  in  the  estimation  of  the  steward,  and 
into  the  company  of  Camperdown,  who  didn't 
seem  to  notice  that  I  had  changed  a  hair. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  this  day  of  depart- 
ure, after  making  a  rather  extravagant  invest- 
ment in  cut  roses,  I  had  bought  the  florist's 
whole  stock  of  potted  violets,  and  ordered  the 
149 


"  The  People  vs.  Dafigerking" 


entire  purchase  to  be  packed  in  boxes  and  de- 
livered in  my  cabin  on  board.  I  was  in  a  de- 
lightfully reckless  frame  of  mind  ;  had  totally  for- 
gotten the  lost  negatives,  and  on  the  way  to  the 
docks  in  a  cab,  found  myself  chuckling  in  such 
an  ecstasy  of  delight,  as  to  put  my  driver  in  seri- 
ous jeopardy  of  arrest  for  unpardonable  careless- 
ness in  transporting  a  dangerous  lunatic. 

During  all  the  bustle  of  departure  I  peered 
about  among  the  crowds  for  a  sight  of  my 
companions  of  the  railway  compartment. 
Somehow  I  had  an  abiding  faith  that  the  two 
figures,  which  I  had  seen  to  dissolve  into  the 
London  fog,  had  materialized  again  and  were 
somewhere  stowed  away  on  board  the  big 
liner.  But  it  was  the  possibility  of  being  mis- 
taken in  this  hopeful  prognosis  that,  for  the 
first  few  days  at  sea,  made  life  a  nervous  un- 
satisfactory burden,  which  was  never  so  toler- 
able to  bear  as  during  those  hours,  when 
stretched  on  my  berth  in  the  seclusion  of  my 
cabin,  I  lent  myself  to  the  luxury  of  recalling 
the  charms  of  that  incomparable  young  woman 
from  Charleston. 

She  was  tall ;  of  ample  proportions  ;  the  pict- 
ure of  health  ;  just  the  superb  figure  to  house 
a  wholesome  mind  ;  a  thought  blond,  with 
abundant  brown  hair  ;  large  eyes  as  synipa- 
150 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


thetic  as  Camperdown's  and  strong,  regular 
white  teeth  ;  large,  well-shapen  hands ;  a  neat- 
ly fitting  costume  of  twilled  cloth,  which  must 
have  been  gray  ;  a  felt  hat  surmounted  by  a 
bird's  wing  which  I  remembered  was  lavender ; 
three  long-stemmed  English  roses  in  the  cor- 
sage, one  of  which  was  half  concealed  by  the 
lapel  of  her  jacket ;  and  the  other  figure,  of 
the  old  man,  was  strangely  out  of  focus  and 
imperfectly  developed. 

Arrived  this  far,  my  mind  invariably  went 
back  to  the  large  expressive  eyes ;  I  heard 
again  the  musical,  well-modulated  voice  and, 
in  desperation,  watered  my  flowers  and  turned 
out  to  walk  the  deck  and  stroll  with  an  air  of 
assumed  unconcern  into  every  accessible  nook 
and  cranny  of  the  ship  in  search  of  the  beauti- 
ful original. 

During  the  first  two  days  of  the  voyage  the 
sea  was  choppy  with  a  cold,  drizzling  rain 
which  made  the  decks  slippery  and  uninviting 
even  to  the  most  determined  pedestrians.  On 
the  third  the  sun  came  out  in  all  his  glory, 
drawing  a  thin  mist  of  steam  from  the  wet  cor- 
dage and  the  canvas  coverings  of  the  boats  on 
the  davits,  and  from  their  cabins  such  of  the 
passengers  as  had  no  imperative  call  to  remain 
longer  in  seclusion.     Camperdown  and  I  went 


The  People  vs.  Dangerkmg" 


joyfully  forth  to  greet  the  sun  and  take  our 
morning  exercise  with  the  rest.  Our  associa- 
tion in  public  led  to  occasional  remarks  along 
the  rail,  that  convinced  me  that  our  newspaper 
notoriety  of  the  past  week  was  not  yet  forgot- 
ten. We  affected  not  to  notice  this  trifling 
distinction  from  which  we  had  no  means  of  es- 
cape, except  by  retiring  from  view  altogether, 
and  having  made  our  way  well  aft  I  took  my 
stand  in  a  sheltered  niche  behind  the  boats, 
looking  out  to  sea  and  revolving  in  my  mind 
the  advisability  of  sending  Camperdown  be- 
low. Without  particularly  noticing  it,  I  was 
aware  that  my  shaggy  companion  had  made  a 
new  acquaintance  (the  ladies  were  very  much 
given  to  petting  him),  and  then  I  heard  two 
words — only  two —  "  Good  Camperdown,"  in 
the  unmistakable  accents  of  the  musical  voice 
of  the  compartment  of  the  London  and  Liver- 
pool train.  I  turned  about  so  suddenly  and  so 
awkwardly  to  confront  my  former  fellow -pas- 
sengers, that  a  becoming  shade  of  confusion 
flitted  across  the  handsome  face  which  con- 
tained the  large  eyes  and  white  teeth  of  my 
dreams,  and  then  passing  instantly  to  a  state 
of  the  most  perfect  self-possession,  she  said  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  was  surprised  to  see 
the  gentleman  who  sat  opposite  us  going  up  to 
152 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


London  on  Saturday,"  and  then,  as  if  to  ex- 
plain her  greeting  to  Camperdown,  "every- 
body on  the  ship  has  heard  of  your  late  advent- 
ure, and  Camperdown  is  a  great  hero. ' ' 

The  easy  frankness  of  her  manner  added  a 
new  charm  to  her  personality,  and  the  length 
of  her  speech  gave  me  time  to  recover  from 
the  tumult  of  agreeable  sensations  with  which 
her  sudden  appearance,  like  a  sunburst  out  of 
that  London  fog,  had  fairly  dazzled  me.  "  I 
remember  you  very  well,"  I  said,  bowing  at 
the  same  time  to  the  old  gentleman  done  up  in 
rugs,  and  feeling  an  indefinable  sense  that  I 
was  a  monster  of  deception  in  saying  so  little 
when  I  felt  so  much. 

"  Won't  you  join  us,  Dr.  Lattimer,"  said 
a  feeble  voice  out  of  the  bundle  of  rugs,  add- 
ing something  about  my  interesting  experi- 
ence, and  something  more  about  the  warmth 
of  the  sun  and  the  shelter  from  the  wind,  and 
at  the  same  time  introducing  himself  and  his 
daughter,  all  of  which,  under  the  calm  gaze  of 
the  young  woman's  eyes,  was  very  much  mixed 
with  the  throb  of  the  engines  and  the  beating 
of  my  heart.  I  sat  down,  however,  with  what 
I  believed  to  be  a  highly  triumphant  victory  of 
mind  over  matter,  ordered  Camperdown  to 
compose   himself,    acknowledged    my    identity 

153 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 


with  the  sailor -man  in  the  railway  compart- 
ment, and  got  back  into  the  salt  scud  and  the 
awful  uncertainty  of  Gibraltar  harbor,  as  what 
wouldn't  I  have  done  for  the  entertainment  of 
the  object  of  my  secret  infatuation. 

It  turned  out  to  be  a  red  letter  morning.  I 
succeeded  in  getting  our  whole  party  into  the 
highest  of  spirits,  including  Mr.  Dangerking, 
who  laughed  quietly  in  his  wraps,  and  other- 
wise left  the  field  to  his  lovely  daughter.  He 
was  altogether  such  a  dear  old  gentleman  that 
I  counted  myself  fortunate  to  be  allowed  to 
carry  down  his  wraps,  and  incidentally  men- 
tioning that  my  friends  had  been  unusually 
lavish  in  their  floral  contributions,  in  one  burst 
of  gratitude  I  sent  him  my  whole  stock  of  cut 
roses. 

I  was  in  for  it !  1  knew  I  was  in  for  it.  If 
the  Utopia  had  not  gone  to  the  bottom,  I 
should  have  returned  to  a  blighted  and  aimless 
life.  I  am  thirty,  and  I  was  perfectly  aware 
that  I  was  behaving  like  a  boy  of  seventeen, 
and  the  worst  of  it  all  was  I  exulted  in  my 
folly. 

I  rejoined  that  young  woman  in  the  after- 
noon, on  deck,  a  bunch  of  blush  roses  —  my 
roses — peeping  from  the  breast  of  her  ulster, 
and  we  struggled  against  the  wind  as  against  a 

154 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 

common  enemy  ;  and  I  thought  of  the  ann  I 
had  thrown  over  Camperdown  in  a  similar  ex- 
tremity, and  noted  the  resemblance  of  Miss 
Dangerking 's  eyes  to  Camperdown 's  when  I 
first  met  him  in  that  scudding  sea. 

Miss  Dangerking  was  something  of  a  hero 
worshipper,  and  she  usually  insisted  upon 
Camperdown  being  one  of  the  party,  "  for 
chaperon,  you  know,"  and  I  felt  that  I  had 
advanced  many  degrees  in  her  approval  by  vir- 
tue of  my  peculiar  experience.  She  consulted 
me  in  regard  to  her  father's  health  with  a  con- 
fidence which  was  altogether  charming,  and  at 
the  request  of  that  gentleman  I  was  installed  at 
his  private  table,  and  on  the  very  first  occasion 
when  we  sat  down  together,  a  mysterious  vase 
of  fresh  violets  ornamented  the  centre  of  the 
board.  Now  violets,  being  the  most  perishable 
of  flowers,  their  presence  on  this  occasion  in 
dewy  freshness,  four  days  out  from  Liverpool, 
was  just  a  little  short  of  a  miracle,  and  the 
wonderment  they  excited  was  the  first-fruit  of 
my  foresight  on  embarking.  I  advised  Miss 
Dangerking  to  wear  them  as  freely  as  if  fresh 
violets  grew  on  the  cross-trees,  trusting  me  to 
replace  these  with  fresher  ones  in  the  morning. 

My  patient,  if  I  may  call  him  such,  slept 
regularly   in    the    afternoon,    and    when    the 

I5S 


ne  People  vs.  Danger  king 


weather  was  favorable  Miss  Dangerking  and  I, 
attended  by  Camperdown,  spent  that  part  of 
the  day  on  deck.  I  was  never  so  happy 
as  when  my  companion  was  recounting  with 
girlish  frankness  some  event  in  her  life,  and  I 
was  permitted  to  lie  back  in  my  chair  and 
gaze,  a  respectful  listener,  into  those  unfathom- 
able eyes  and  note  the  changes  of  expression 
flitting  across  her  mobile  face.  That  there 
was  some  trouble  casting  its  baleful  shadow 
there,  other  than  the  trouble  caused  by  her 
father's  illness,  I  felt  by  instinct,  but  the  only 
acknowledged  secret  between  us  was  the  mys- 
tery of  the  fresh  violets. 

It  was  the  last  evening  we  were  to  spend  on 
board,  and  something  of  the  balm  of  the  first 
week  in  April  had  come  out  to  us  on  the  west 
wind  ;  and  we  made  our  way  aft  and  arranged 
our  chairs  where  we  could  look  back  along  the 
white  track  of  the  steamer  as  it  lay  a  furrow  of 
foam  over  the  gentle  swells. 

Our  perfectly  frank  and  natural  a.s.sociation 
on  the  voyage  now  closing  had  ripened  into  a 
richer  fruit,  which  I  trembled  at  the  thought 
of  plucking,  lest  by  some  unlucky  wind  its 
fragrance  should  be  scattered  forever.  The 
future  is  always  full  of  doubt.  Our  mood — 
mine  at  least — was  retrospective,  and  so  it  fell 
156 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

out,  that  we  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence  look- 
ing back  on  the  trail  of  the  ship,  the  spark  of 
my  cigar  just  showing  in  the  gloom.  Miss 
Dangerking's  chair  was  a  trifle  in  advance  so 
that  her  figure  was  relieved  against  that  part  of 
the  sky  where  the  moon  was  rising. 

A  deeper  breath,  which  may  or  may  not  have 
been  a  sigh,  a  relaxing  of  lines,  and  the  mass 
of  Miss  Dangerking's  head  turned  in  my  direc- 
tion. I  knew  that  the  invisible  eyes  rested  full 
on  mine.  For  a  moment  I  was  silent  under 
the  sweet  influence  of  that  gaze,  only  indicated, 
on  her  part,  by  the  action  of  her  head. 

"  Our  passage  is  drawing  to  an  end."      (I.) 

"  Yes."  (She.) 

At  the  sound  of  our  voices,  Camperdown 
made  his  appearance  out  of  the  gloom  where  he 
had  been  sleeping,  and,  but  for  my  restraint, 
would  have  licked  the  hand  which  lay  so 
quietly  on  the  arm  of  Miss  Dangerking's 
chair. 

As  I  have  remarked  before,  I  am  not  given 
to  hesitation  when  the  time  for  action  comes. 
I  extended  my  hand  and  laid  it  firmly  on  that 
other  hand  so  white  in  the  moonlight,  with 
perfect  confidence  in  my  abiHty  to  speak.  For 
the  first  time  in  my  life  the  words  left  me.  I 
felt  a  tremor  in   the  long  fingers  under  mine. 

157 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking'' 

I  choked  and  stammered,  and  only  managed  to 
say,  "  Miss  Dangerking,  you  know " 

I  was  not  frightened  in  the  sense  of  being 
terrified,  but  this  time  I  had  essayed  a  phmge 
without  being  prepared  for  it.  If  that  other 
plunge  over  the  side  of  the  Utopia  had  been 
half  as  terrible,  I  should  have  gone  down  never 
to  rise  again. 

"  Miss — Miss  Dangerking " 

The  under  hand  had  ceased  to  tremble,  and 
the  tone  of  my  voice  was  beginning  to  assert 
itself. 

*'  Please  don't.  Dr.  Lattimer,  we  are  so  hap- 
py as  we  are." 

Did  ever  man  obey  such  an  injunction  at 
such  a  time  ?  A  half-hour  afterward  I  was  sit- 
ting alone  in  the  same  place,  as  a  consequence 
of  my  reckless  disobedience,  smoking  violently, 
and  gazing  out  to  sea  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  de- 
termine whether  I  was  partly  happy  or  utterly 
miserable.  Some  things  had  happened  which 
put  my  head  in  a  whirl  to  remember,  but  Miss 
Dangerking  had  insisted  that  everything  was 
impossible,  and  it  was  when  I  begged  to  speak 
to  her  father  that,  with  strange  agitation,  she 
had  entreated  me  to  come  to  her,  at  their  hotel 
on  the  following  evening,  for  an  explanation. 


158 


Ill 


I  ARRIVED  promptly  at  the  hour  appoint- 
ed, and  was  shown  into  the  presence  of 
Miss  Dangerking.  She  gave  me  her  hand  un- 
reservedly, motioned  me  to  a  seat  opposite  her, 
and  ^vith  a  perceptibly  heightened  color  mant- 
ling her  handsome  face,  proceeded  directly  to 
the  subject  of  the  interview. 

"You  know  my  feelings  toward  you.  Dr. 
Lattimer,"  she  said,  with  the  most  engaging 
candor.  For  a  moment  her  eyes  fell  as  if  in  deep 
thought,  and  then  she  continued  :  "  The  causes 
which  have  led  to  my  father's  broken  condition 
you  are  ignorant  of.  It  is  on  that  subject  I  feel 
it  my  duty  to  enlighten  you. 

"  My  father  is  resting  under  grave  charges  of 
the  misappropriation  of  the  funds  of  an  estate 
committed  to  his  care  as  a  banker.  He  has 
twice  stood  trial — twice  been  convicted,  and  he 
is  returning  now  to  surrender  himself  for  trial 
in  the  court  of  last  resort  —  with  the  ablest 
counsel  in  the  State  to  defend  him — but  with 
no  new  evidence,  although  the  attorneys  have 

159 


The  People  vs.  Dangerhing" 


sought  for  it  diligently.  The  trust  consisted  of 
a  very  large  sum  in  Government  bonds  and 
railway  shares,  and  three  days  before  the  final 
accounting  was  called  for,  the  securities  were 
safe  in  my  father's  private  vault.  There  was 
no  trace  of  a  robbery  ;  no  one  connected  with 
the  bank  disappeared  ;  there  was  no  clerk  to 
whom  the  slightest  taint  of  suspicion  could  at- 
tach. With  my  father's  nice  sense  of  honorable 
dealing  he  would  never  consent  to  the  engage- 
ment you  have  proposed.  It  is  because  I 
wished  to  spare  him  the  pain  of  such  a  decision 
that  I  determined  to  make  this  explanation  my- 
self." 

The  extreme  youth  of  the  speaker,  the  cool 
business  statement  she  had  made  of  the  salient 
points  in  a  case  at  law,  with  none  of  the  prot- 
estations or  bewailings  which  most  girls  would 
have  bestowed  upon  such  a  narrative,  invested 
her  with  a  womanly  dignity  that  would  have 
won  my  admiration  if  I  had  never  seen  her  be- 
fore. The  uncomplaining  devotion  with  which, 
on  a  long  foreign  journey,  Miss  Dangerking  had 
reversed  the  order  of  nature,  becoming  the  pro- 
tector of  her  natural  protector,  had  already  cap- 
tivated my  imagination,  and  as  I  have  admitted 
before,  I  was  past  the  stage  of  reason. 

''  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  those   charges 
i6o 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

against  your  father,"  I  said,  springing  to  my 
feet. 

Miss  Dangerking  rose  and  extended  her  hand, 
her  beautiful  eyes  swimming  with  gratitude. 

"  Come  and  see  us  every  day  if  you  will,  but 
never  speak  of  our  relations,  and  never  mention 
in  my  father's  presence  the  subject  of  this 
interview. ' ' 

A  cold  April  rain  was  pelting  the  windows 
when  I  took  my  departure.  Countless  lances 
of  light  were  stabbing  the  stones  of  the  street. 
A  dreary  chorus  of  fog-horns  sounded  from  the 
rivers.  The  windows  of  the  carriage  streamed 
with  the  rain,  reminding  me  of  the  bulls-eyes 
of  the  Utopia  before  that  vessel  grounded  on 
the  iron  ram  of  the  Anson. 

Of  the  fearful  consequences  of  a  final  convic- 
tion, Miss  Dangerking  had  said  not  a  word.  I 
was  enjoined  from  pressing  my  suit.  I  deter- 
mined to  devote  all  my  energies  to  the  discovery 
of  the  missing  evidence,  which  was  another  in- 
dication that  my  love  had  dethroned  my  reason; 
I  knew  it  and  exulted  in  it.  If  trained  lawyers 
had  failed  to  find  the  missing  link,  what  would 
a  medical  expert  be  likely  to  accomplish  ?  I 
did  not  choose  to  accept  the  logical  deduction 
of  my  own  hypothesis.  I  was  determined  to 
butt  my  stupid,  infatuated  head  against  the 
i6i 


The  People  vs.  Daiigerkiiig" 


stone  wall  of  the  law.  Accordingly  I  placed 
myself  in  communication  with  the  counsel  for 
the  defence  in  the  case  of  the  People  vs.  Dan- 
gerking,  and  in  due  time  was  in  possession  of 
the  numbers  and  issues  of  the  Government  bonds 
and  a  complete  d^cription  of  the  railroad  secur- 
ities. 

Miss  Dangerking  accepted  my  attention  to 
her  father's  health  and  my  devotion  to  herself 
with  a  perfect  understanding  of  tlie  spirit  in 
which  they  were  offered,  and,  on  my  part,  I  was 
entirely  loyal  to  the  injunction  she  had  placed 
upon  the  expression  of  my  wishes  in  a  certain 
direction.  She  resumed  her  former  frank, 
cheerful  manner,  as  if  no  gulf  of  impending  dis- 
aster yawned  under  her  feet.  It  was  impossible 
to  regard  her  as  a  girl.  The  only  girlish  trait 
she  showed  was  an  extravagant  fondness  for 
Camperdown,  and  the  two  certainly  made  a 
stately  and  distinguished  appearance  together 
on  the  streets,  and  would  never  have  been  sep- 
arated at  all  if  the  railway  officials  had  shared 
my  views  of  the  dog's  rights  in  the  matter  of  a 
first-class  ticket  by  the  Charleston  limited. 

A  fortnight  later,  I  had  accomplished  abso- 
lutely nothing  in  diagnosing  the  case  of  the 
People  7'j-.  Dangerking.  The  missing  .securities 
showed  no  symptoms  of  responding  to  my 
162 


"  The  People  vs.  Daftgerking" 

method  of  treatment.  I  had  not  even  evolved 
a  plausible  diagnosis  to  begin  on.  Offensive  as 
the  act  was  to  my  professional  instincts,  in 
sheer  desperation,  I  inserted  a  description  of 
the  missing  property  through  an  advertising 
agency,  in  an  extended  list  of  newspapers,  both 
in  the  United  States  and  Canada,  offering  a 
liberal  reward  for  information.  I  craved  the 
advice  and  assistance  of  a  cool  head,  such  as 
reposed  on  the  shoulders  of  Philip  Coe.  I  had 
an  impulse  to  send  for  him.  Even  if  I  had 
possessed  his  address  I  had  no  right  to  demand 
such  a  sacrifice  of  a  casual  acquaintance,  and  no 
reason  to  believe  that  such  a  request  would  be 
complied  with.  It  was  plainly  a  whim  too 
wild  for  my  excited  imagination  to  entertain 
seriously,  and  I  put  it  out  of  my  thoughts. 

What  could  I  do  to  ward  off  the  fatal  result 
in  the  approaching  trial  of  my  amiable  and  in- 
nocent patient,  and  the  crushing  blow  of  an 
adverse  verdict  to  the  woman  I  loved  ?  Besides 
torturing  me  by  day,  the  subject  was  robbing 
me  of  sleep  by  night.  I  could  go  to  Charleston 
and  consult  with  the  defendant's  counsel.  It 
would  be  a  relief  to  know  from  day  to  day  just 
what  was  being  done  in  the  case.  It  was  June 
no\v,  and  Miss  Dangerking  and  her  father  were 
absent  from  the  already  hot  city.      I  could  de- 

163 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

vote  myself  all  the  more  assiduously  to  my  in- 
vestigation if  only  a  clue  could  be  found  to 
work  on. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  before  my  in- 
tended departure  for  Charleston  I  was  sitting  in 
my  office,  more  cast  down  than  ever,  having 
but  just  returned  from  a  long  and  fruitless  con- 
sultation with  the  chief  of  police.  In  fact  I 
was  nearer  to  the  point  where  a  man  yields  to 
cowardly  despair  than  I  had  ever  before  had 
occasion  to  be.  Even  Camperdown  gave  over 
his  amiable  attempts  to  arouse  me  and  stalked 
away  to  his  private  quarters  in  the  back  office. 
The  windows  were  open  onto  the  quiet  cross 
street.  The  China  silk  curtains  hung  limp  and 
motionless  in  the  still  hot  air,  and  outside  the 
insects  droned  and  buzzed  in  the  muggy  heat 
despite  the  absence  of  their  friend  the  sun, 
whose  rays  were  quenched  in  a  thin,  sticky 
mist  of  impalpable  fog. 

A  solitary  cab  rattled  over  the  pavement,  its 
unwelcome  clatter  magnified  fourfold  in  the 
drowsy  stillness.  It  pulled  up  Avith  a  lurch  un- 
pleasantly suggestive  of  a  fever  patient  tossing 
in  some  gilded  apartment,  and  the  arrested 
horse  continued  to  stamp  his  inconsiderate  feet 
on  the  hot  stones. 

The  door   which  stood  ajar  swung  inward. 

164 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


A  breezy  figure  projected  itself  against  the 
light. 

"How's  the  amateur  photographer?  Not 
mourning  over  those  water-logged  negatives  ? 
Hey,  Doctor  ?  ' ' 

"  Mourning  over  nothing,  my  dear  Coe,"  I 
cried,  "  except  the  heat." 

"  Heat !  Come  now — don't  say  heat  to  a 
man  fresh  from  Algeria.  Air  feels  rather  frosty 
this  morning.  Sun  just  stopped  short  of  melt- 
ing my  plates  in  that  African  bake-shop.  I 
hung  around  the  engine  on  the  steamer  and 
suffered  with  the  cold  like  a  February  gosling. 
I've  found  a  climate  just  suited  to  my  blood." 

"  You  didn't  go  to  Russia?  " 

"  No.     Sudden  attack  of  home-sickness." 

"  Glad  of  it.  You're  the  very  man  I  want- 
ed to  see.  You've  cleared  the  atmosphere  like 
a  gust  of  wind  already.  Come  in  this  morn- 
ing ?  So — I  want  to  consult  you  in  an  emer- 
gency. ' ' 

"  Well,  why  not.  Doctor,  you  own  me  for 
the  present.  Hello !  Is  that  the  dog  from 
Gibraltar  ?  Devilish  fine  dog — What's — his — 
name — Camperdown  ?  Do  you  know,  I've  had 
a  prejudice  against  dogs  from  a  child.  And 
that  splendid  brute  knows  it.  How  do  you 
account  for  it?  " 

165 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king 


Sure  enough  Camperdown  growled  and 
showed  his  teeth,  a  thing  that  I  had  never  seen 
him  do  before,  and  for  which  I  promptly  or- 
dered him  out  of  our  presence. 

Philip  Coe  sat  down  and  insisted  on  having 
the  particulars  of  my  shipwreck,  only  interrupt- 
ing me  with  an  occasional  question  or  an  ejacu- 
lation of  satisfaction  over  my  perseverance  and 
final  rescue.  "  And  your  last  will  and  testa- 
ment, by  the  way,"  I  said,  going  over  to  the 
safe  and  extracting  the  envelope  la  padrona  had 
given  us  in  the  Trattorea  Fiorelli,  "  here  you 
are." 

"Oh!  I'm  glad  you  mentioned  it,"  said 
Philip  Coe,  placing  it  in  his  breast  pocket. 
"  It's  enough  for  the  present  that  you  got  your 
own  precious  skin  out  of  the  brine." 

"  You  must  dine  with  me  to-night,"  I  said, 
"  and  we  will  talk  over  the  matter  to  which  I 
referred — something  that  is  disturbing  me  very 
much  at  present,  sorry  to  say — (I  saw  that  he 
was  moving  to  go) — meet  me  here  at  seve-n. 
then." 

The  horse  that  had  never  ceased  to  stam])  at 
the  flies,  now  rattled  away  over  the  pavement. 

The  color  of  the  world  had  changed  since 
the  advent  of  my  resourceful  friend,  and  I  con- 
gratulated myself  on  his  timely  arrival.     I  was 

1 66 


The  People  vs.  Dangerking 


not  content  to  enjoy  the  fact  alone,  and,  seizing 
a  pen,  lover-like,  I  wrote  a  brief  note  to  Miss 
Dangerking,  predicting  hopeful  results  from  the 
opportune  arrival  of  Philip  Coe.  I  took  Cam- 
perdown  out  for  a  walk,  revolving  in  my  mind 
how  I  should  present  the  all-absorbing  case  to 
my  shrewd  friend,  remembering  that  his  judg- 
ment was  not  influenced  by  any  sympathy  for 
my  patient,  and  having  a  fear  that  he  would 
pronounce  a  sharp  and  incisive  opinion  that 
the  defendant  was  guilty  as  charged. 

It  was  half-past  five  when  Philip  Coe  left  my 
office.  It  still  wanted  a  half-hour  of  the  time 
set  for  dinner  when  he  returned.  He  tossed  a 
package  onto  the  table,  wrapped  in  a  strong, 
gray  paper,  showing  two  red  seals.  He  was  evi- 
dently in  some  new  hurry.  The  instant  he  laid 
his  package  down  I  noticed  that  his  name  was 
written  diagonally  across  the  wrapper  between 
the  seals.  I  recognized  it  as  the  package  from 
the  Astor  House. 

"  Business  is  business,  my  dear  Doctor,"  he 
explained,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  his 
breath,  and  wiping  his  wrists  with  his  hand- 
kerchief as  he  spoke, — "  awfully  sorry,  but  I 
have  to  leave  for  St.  Louis  by  an  early  train. 
Haven't  time  to  cut  off  my  coupons.  I  was 
getting  short  of  money,  and  that  is  the  real 
167 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 


reason  of  my  return.  Expected  to  have  plenty 
of  time  to  shear  my  flock  and  realize  on  the 
wool  to-morrow." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  you  forget  that  I  pos- 
itively can't  spare  you — I  want  to  use  you — I 
need  your  advice." 

"  Give  it  to  you  at  dinner,  but  go  I  must — 
telegram  imperative." 

"  When  can  you  come  back  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  in  New  York  again  in  a  week  at 
the  farthest,"  said  Philip  Coe,  "  and  then  we'll 
develop  my  negatives  together,"  laying  his  hand 
on  my  shoulder  and  brightening  at  the  joyful 
prospect. 

"  If  you  need  any  money,  say  so,"  said  I. 

"  Money,"  cried  he,  tapping  the  package 
which  lay  on  the  table.  "  I'm  loaded  v.'ith 
money.  You  shall  turn  in  and  help  me  cut 
coupons  after  dinner.  It's  because  I  shall  want 
a  considerable  sum  on  Saturday  that  I  propose 
to  pick  these  birds  to-night  and  ask  you  to  de- 
posit the  proceeds  to  your  own  account  and 
mail  me  a  check.  That's  not  much  to  ask  of  a 
friend,"  he  rattled  on,  severing  the  cord  and 
breaking  the  seals  of  the  package. 

I  naturally  felt  an  extraordinary  interest  in 
the  contents  of  a  parcel  the  receipt  for  which 
had  accompanied  me  through  so  many  advent- 
i68 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

ures,  but  I  only  looked  on  in  respectful  si- 
lence. 

Philip  Coe  was  bent  over  at  his  work  under  the 
glare  of  the  drop-light.  I  stood  above  and  behind 
him,  a  little  withdrawn  from  the  heat  of  the  gas. 

"There,"  said  he,  laying  out  a  thousand 
dollar  Government  4  of  1907,  "  it  will  be  short 
work  and  merry.  I  haven't  seen  the  smiling 
faces  of  these  fellows  in  over  a  year." 

It  was  a  mercy  that  my  face  was  removed 
from  the  scrutiny  of  Philip  Coe.  It  must  have 
blanched  with  a  tell-tale  pallor  for  an  instant, 
for  my  blood  seemed  to  stand  still  and  the  room 
swam  before  my  astonished  eyes  as  I  noted  the 
issue  and  number  of  the  bond. 

He  continued  to  look  through  the  package 
hurriedly,  turning  out  paper  after  paper  as  if  to 
satisfy  himself  that  the  contents  had  not  been 
disturbed  in  his  absence,  and  in  the  brilliant 
light  I  too  read  the  name  of  the  very  railway 
securities  which  were  missing  in  the  case  of  the 
People  vs.  Dangerking,  and  began  to  realize  the 
cool  villany  of  the  man,  who  had  so  skilfully 
played  with  my  confidence. 

My  maid  servant  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Dinner  is  served,  my  dear  boy,"  I  cried. 
"  Put  that  lumber  in  the  safe  until  we  have 
eaten  something." 

169 


*'  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

With  the  most  perfect  confidence  in  his  vic- 
tim he  replaced  the  papers,  closed  the  wrapper 
loosely  over  the  package  and  laid  his  booty 
carefully  on  the  steel  shelf  I  designated  (the 
door  of  the  safe  had  stood  open  since  I  had 
taken  out  the  envelope  containing  his  receipt), 
and  I  closed  the  combination. 

At  the  soft  click  of  that  oily  lock  as  the 
massive  bolts  slid  smoothly  into  place  over  the 
missing  evidence  in  the  case  of  the  People  vs. 
Dangerking,  my  spirits  rose  and  my  brain  was 
as  clear  and  cool  as  a  chess-player's  who  sees 
mate  in  the  next  move. 

"I  don't  know  how  you  feel,  old  fellow," 
said  I,  clapping  Philip  Coe  heartily  on  the 
shoulder,  "but  lam  as  hungry  as  a  hound," 
and  I  led  the  way  briskly  to  the  dining-room. 

"  I'm  still  in  possession  of  my  sea  appetite," 
said  he,  as  he  seated  himself  op])osite  to  me  and 
shook  out  his  napkin. 

The  table  was  a  round  one  reduced  to  its 
smallest  dimensions,  so  that  we  could  easily 
have  shaken  hands  across  it  if  we  had  been  so 
disposed. 

Although  my  mind  was  acting  in  a  twofold 

capacity  it  in  nowise  interfered  with  the  relish 

and  vivacity  with  which  we  addressed  ourselves 

to  the  dinner.      Hospitality  under  the  circum- 

170 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


stances  rose  to  the  dignity  of  a  fine  art — as  fine 
as  the  edge  of  a  lancet. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  last  time  we  drank 
Asti  Spumanti  together?"  I  cried,  as  I 
loosened  the  napkin-muffled  cork. 

"Well,  rather,"  said  Philip  Coe,  settling 
back  in  his  chair  with  a  comfortable  reminiscent 
laugh.  "  I  can  see  the  green  light  between 
those  vine-frescoed  walls  and  smell  the  fruity 
casks  piled  upon  the  earthen  floor." 

"And  I,"  said  I,  "inhale  the  atmosphere 
of  la  padrona  at  this  moment,  as  she  brought 
us  the  envelope  for  your  document,"  and  I 
smiled  meaningly  over  at  the  man  who  had  so 
cunningly  made  use  of  me  to  transport  and 
protect  a  compromising  paper  which  he  feared 
to  carry  on  his  own  person. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  I,  " — a — Mary  "  (she 
was  removing  the  remains  of  the  fish)  "is 
William  in  the  house?"  and  then  to  Coe, 
"  We  shall  want  some  cigars  presently,  and  I 
am  going  to  send  my  boy  out  for  something 
that  will  give  you  a  genuine  surprise,  old 
smoker  that  you  are. ' ' 

As  I  said  this  I  produced  a  blank  prescrip- 
tion pad  and  wrote  as  follows  : 

"/  am  dining  at  this  moment  with  a  man 
171 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 


whom  you  want.     Post  two  officers  opposite  viy 
door  at  once. ' ' 

"J.  Q.  Lattimer,  M.D. 

" Gramercy  Park." 

"  Do  you  like  them  strong  ?  "  I  asked,  look- 
ing up  at  my  guest. 

"Not  too  strong,"  he  replied,  "anything 
that  suits  you  will  suit  me." 

I  wondered  if  it  would.  I  felt  a  wave  of 
shame  at  having  indulged  in  such  cruel  badi- 
nage. I  tore  off  the  paper  from  the  pad, 
doubled  it  carefully,  wrote  on  the  outside  : 

"  Inspector 


Mulberry  Street,'' 

took  a  banknote  from  my  pocket,  laid  it  over 
the  address,  and  handed  it  to  Mary  with  in- 
structions to  give  it  to  William. 

"  That  potted  pigeon  isn't  half  bad,  is  it  ?  " 
said  I  ;  "let  me  fill  your  glass.  Take  your 
time,  enjoy  yourself  to  the  utmost.  After  we 
get  on  to  the  dessert  I  want  to  consult  you 
about  my  affair.  You  haven't  told  me  any- 
thing yet  about  your  luck  in  Algeria." 

Philip  Coe  was  in  such  a  charming  humor 
that   he  launched  directly  into  his  African  ex- 

172 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 

periences,  which  were  sufficiently  entertaining 
and  so  dehghtfully  told  that  I  felt  a  conviction 
that  he  might  have  been  equally  successful  as 
an  author,  without  being  a  plagiarist  either. 

I  had  abundant  time  to  consider  what  I 
should  say  when  my  turn  came,  for  we  were 
still  on  the  subject  of  Algeria  when  the  coffee 
was  served. 

Fortunately  I  had  an  unopened  box  of  cigars 
in  the  butler's  pantry,  and  as  we  were  now  left 
alone  I  fetched  the  box  myself  and  opened  it 
on  the  table. 

Since  I  had  proposed  to  take  counsel  of 
Philip  Coe,  such  a  revolution  had  taken  place 
in  my  feelings  toward  the  man  who  sat  opposite 
to  me,  that  I  had  no  longer  the  faintest  need 
of  his  advice.  I  had  offered  my  hospitality  to 
a  personal  friend  in  whom  I  had  the  utmost 
confidence ;  in  a  moment  he  had  been  trans- 
formed into  a  cunning,  designing,  treacherous 
enemy.  Whether  he  was  principal  or  con- 
federate in  the  robbery,  the  evidence  of  which 
he  had  so  strangely  laid  before  me,  I  had  no 
means  of  knowing.  I  was  not  yet  ready  to 
accuse  him  of  a  crime.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
or  a  courteous  proceeding  when  the  culprit  was 
at  the  same  time  the  honored  guest  at  my  table. 
I  shrank  from  seeming  to  be  rude.     If  I  opened 

173 


"  The  People  t's.  Dangerliing" 


my  heart  to  him  frankly,  as  I  had  at  first  in- 
tended to  do,  relating  the  story  of  my  love  and 
then  reciting  in  order  the  difficulties  which  pre- 
vented my  engagement  to  Miss  Dangerking, 
the  innocent  story,  itself,  would  be  the  accuser. 
I  therefore  decided  to  place  myself  behind  the 
story  and  watch  its  effects  on  Philip  Coe,  who 
at  the  moment  was  complacently  inhaling  the 
fragrance  of  his  cigar  as  innocent  of  what  was 
passing  in  my  mind  as  the  roses  which  exhaled 
their  delicate  perfume  over  the  space  that  lay 
between  us. 

I  confessed  that  the  story  I  Avas  about  to  re- 
late was  a  story  of  love,  and  then  I  entered  into 
the  minutest  details  of  that  journey  up  to 
London,  expatiating  on  the  beauty  of  the  fair 
unknown,  and  not  forgetting  to  describe  my 
grotesque  dress  and  my  bewildered  condition 
in  the  foggy  station. 

I  could  see  that  my  guest  was  deeply  in- 
terested. He  rallied  me  on  my  infatuation. 
He  laughed  at  my  humorous  points  with  that 
joyous  abandon  with  which  a  man  laughs  after 
dinner.  As  I  told  him  of  my  love  for  this 
girl,  taking  liim  into  my  confidence  to  a  greater 
degree  than  I  have  taken  the  reader,  he  grew 
quite  sympathetic. 

"Devilish   fine  girl,"   he  cried,  "and  she's 

174 


The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 


fond  of  you  too,  Doctor.      Don't  you  give  her 

up " 

"  I  never  give  up  anything  I  get  my  hands 
on,"  said  I.  "  Coe,  that's  a  pecuHarity  of 
mine. ' ' 

"  Fine  scene  that  in  the  moonhght,"  said  he, 
fining  his  glass.  ' '  And  she  gave  you  no  reason 
for  her  refusal  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  she  did,"  said  I.  "Her  father 
was  charged  with  a  crime  —  embezzhng  the 
funds  of  a  trust  or  something  of  that  sort.  She 
told  me  herself  like  a  martyr,  rather  than  sub- 
ject him  to  pain. 

"  Did  she,  though  ?  "  said  Philip  Coe,  start- 
ing forward  into  an  attitude  of  enthusiastic  ad- 
miration. "  Lattimer,  that  girl  is  a  thorough- 
bred. I'm  half  in  love  with  her  myself.  She 
is  an  American  through  and  through.  And 
then  raising  his  tiny  glass  in  his  fingers,  "Let 
us  drink  the  health  of  Miss " 

"  Dangerking,"  I  suggested,  "  from  Charles- 
ton." 

His  eyes  flashed  on  mine.  His  cold  face 
changed  color  for  an  instant,  but  his  hand  hold- 
ing the  brimming  glass  was  without  a  sign  of 
tremor.  "Marry  her,  my  dear  fellow,"  he 
said.    ' '  She  is  worthy  of  you.    Her  health ' ' 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  I  said  ;   "  the  suspicion 

175 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

that  attaches  to  her  father  can  only  be  removed 
by  the  discovery  of  the  securities  he  is  charged 
with  having  taken.  Those  securities,  Philip 
Coe,"  I  said,  rising  and  pointing  my  finger  at 
my  guest.      "  Those  securities " 

"Are  locked  in  your  strong  box.  Pray  be 
seated,  Dr.  Lattimer.  Any  heat  on  your  part 
is  most  unbecoming  at  this  time.  As  your 
guest,  I  would  save  you  from  marring  your 
hospitality  with  the  slightest  rudeness.  We 
evidently  understand  each  other.  Let  us  ad- 
journ to  your  office  and  talk  this  matter  over 
calmly. ' ' 

Philip  Coe  led  the  way  and  I  followed  in 
silence,  thankful  that  he  had  saved  me  from  any 
further  elaboration  of  my  charges.  Arrived  in 
my  office,  he  faced  about  and  addressed  me  as 
follows : 

"  You  have  won  some  distinction,  Dr.  Lat- 
timer, in  the  practice  of  your  profession  ;  a 
condition  I  carefully  avoid  in  the  practice  of 
mine.  We  both  regard  advertising  as  highly 
unprofessional.  We  will  waive  the  fact  that  I 
have  been  dining  at  your  table.  Without 
further  waste  of  words,  Dr.  Lattimer,  I  shall 
trouble  you  to  return  me  the  package  I  handed 
you  before  dinner.  I  am  prepared  to  enforce 
my  demand. ' ' 

176 


"  Tlje  People  vs.  Dangerking" 

We  were  both  standing ;  the  table  with  its 
shaded  lamp  between  us,  and  as  Philip  Coe 
made  his  demand  he  thrust  his  hand  behind  him 
with  a  motion  which  I  perfectly  understood. 

The  next  instant  a  gleaming  revolver  was 
pointed  at  my  head.  I  mildly  suggested  that 
the  secret  of  the  combination  which  held  the 
package  he  wanted  was  known  to  me  alone. 
"  What  would  be  the  advantage  to  you  of  add- 
ing murder,"  I  said,  "to  the  already  long 
list  of  your  crimes  ?  ' ' 

A  malignant  gleam  of  hatred  shot  from  his 
evil  eyes.  I  remembered  the  cool  precision 
with  which  he  levelled  his  camera  and  the  ad- 
mirable prudence  that  governed  the  drop  of  his 
shutter.  He  was  not  the  man  to  waste  a  plate 
or  a  bullet. 

The  curtain  rustled  in  the  faint  evening 
breeze,  making  the  only  sound  in  the  lighted 
room  since  I  had  ceased  to  speak. 

"  Close  that  window.  Dr.  Lattimer,"  was 
the  only  reply  he  made  to  my  remonstrance.  I 
turned  to  the  wndow.  The  two  officers  I  had 
summoned  were  leaning  against  a  lamp-post  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  The  hght  fell 
full  on  them.  They  were  looking  directly 
across.  No  unusual  sound  or  movement  could 
escape  their  observation. 

177 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

"  Before  I  close  this  window,"  said  I,  "  let 
me  call  your  attention  to  those  two  figures  over 
the  way,"  and  I  drew  the  curtains  aside  suf- 
ficiently to  give  him  an  uninterrupted  view. 
"  They  are  awaiting  a  sign  or  a  motion  from 
me." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  the  hand  holding  the 
weapon  was  lowered.     I  no  longer  feared  him. 

'•'Sit  down,  Philip  Coe,"  said  I.  "In- 
stead of  sending  for  cigars  an  hour  ago,  I  sent 
for  those  gentlemen.  It  is  not  necessary  for 
them  to  observe  us  further  at  present." 

I  drew  the  curtains  together. 

"  You  are  a  remarkable  man,  Dr.  Lattimer. 
You  buy  out  florists,  and  summon  police  offi- 
cers with  equal  foresight.  Would  you  mind 
throwing  this  dangerous  weapon  in  your  waste- 
paper  basket  ?  ' ' 

I  did  precisely  as  he  requested  me. 

"  I  know  when  I  am  beaten,"  he  said,  seat- 
ing himself  at  the  table.  He  bit  off  the  end  of 
a  cigar,  lighted  it,  and  passed  it  under  his 
nose  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  its  quality.  I 
couldn't  help  admiring  his  cool  self-possession. 
Critical  as  the  situation  was,  my  remarkable 
guest  showed  no  signs  of  fear,  no  agitation,  no 
excitement.  He  was  perfectly  calm  and  col- 
lected.     With    his    faculty    for    quick    mental 

178 


"  The  People  vs.  Danger  king" 

combinations,  he  recognized  the  jaws  of  the 
trap  Avhich  held  him.  He  was  evidently  a 
philosopher  of  the  school  of  fatalists. 

"I  am  rather  fond  of  my  liberty,"  said 
Philip  Coe,  pushing  about  some  bits  of  paper 
on  the  table  with  his  long  flexible  fingers. 
"  You  have  taken  possession  of  the  fruits  of  my 
last  speculation  !  My  arrival,  unfortunate  as 
it  has  been  to  myself,  clears  your  friends,  and 
opens  the  way  to  your  uttermost  happiness. 
What  do  you  propose  to  offer  me  in  return  for 
this  ?  ' ' 

The  hint  at  my  happiness  was  an  over- 
whelming appeal.  On  the  threshold  of  the 
joyful  future  made  possible  by  the  happenings 
of  this  eventful  night  I  shrank  from  being  the 
cause  of  further  sufferings  to  the  principal  agent 
in  the  new  turn  of  affairs. 

"  Clear  up  the  mystery  connected  with  this 
robbery,"  I  said,  perfectly  aware  that  I  was 
compounding  a  felony,  "  and  you  shall  depart 
as  freely  as  you  came.  As  to  your  friends  over 
the  way,  I  will  tell  them  it  was  all  a  mistake." 

His  explanation  covered  everything,  even 
to  the  odd  circumstance  of  leaving  the  valuable 
package  for  so  long  a  time  in  the  keeping  of 
the  authorities  of  the  hotel.  An  officer  of  the 
law  had  been   hot  on  his  trail  for  another  of- 

179 


"  The  People  vs.  Dangerking" 

fence,  and  to  elude  pursuit  he  had  dodged  on 
board  an  outgoing  steamer,  carrying  with  him 
the  receipt  which  I  had  been  at  so  much  pains 
to  bring  back  for  him. 

After  this  statement  had  been  written  out 
by  his  own  hand,  I  called  in  the  waitress  who 
had  served  us  at  dinner  to  witness  the  signa- 
ture. The  name  attached  to  the  document 
was  Philip  Coe,  the  same  which  had  appeared 
in  the  paper  I  had  dried  out  on  the  deck  of  the 
Camperdown,  and  which  was  written  across 
the  opening  of  the  broken  package  in  my  safe. 


One  afternoon  in  the  autumn,  Miss  Danger- 
king  and  I,  with  Camperdown  in  close  attend- 
ance, were  pacing  slowly  to  and  fro  on  the 
shady  side  of  Lafayette  Place  over  against  the 
sombre  front  of  the  Astor  Library,  and  along 
that  colonnade  of  Corinthian  columns  of  a  de- 
parted glory,  which  she  called  a  gallery,  get- 
ting inexpressible  comfort  out  of  the  fusted 
old  street,  and  our  undisturbed  possession  of 
it,  and  daring  at  last  to  look  frankly  into  the 
clarified  future.  Our  marriage  was  set  for  that 
day  week. 

"You  have  never  cleared  up  the  mystery 
of  those  wonderfully  fresh  violets,"  said  Miss 
I  So 


"  The  People  vs.  Daiigerking" 


Dangerking,  with  an  earnestness  I  was  no 
longer  capable  of  trifling  with. 

"  I  sent  a  conservatory  on  board  in  pots  at 
Liverpool.     I  thought  you  might  like  them." 

"I  did  like  them,"  she  said,  after  we  had 
walked  on  to  a  little  distance,  raising  her 
sympathetic  eyes  from  the  broken  flagging 
through  which  a  distorted  root  was  struggling 
to  force  its  way  into  the  light.  "  I  was  think- 
ing of  a  later  evidence  of  your  thoughtfulness. 
I  am  glad  that  our  perfect  happiness  is  not 
clouded  by  the  sense  of  having  consigned  to 
prison  the  burglar  who  was  instrumental  in 
bringing  it  about." 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


"THE   DEMENTED   ONES" 

BEYOND  the  near  hills,  and  veiled  by  the 
smoking  woods,  the  battle  is  joined. 
It  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  roar  of  the  ar- 
tillery is  heavier  than  the  ceaseless  tear  and 
grind,  grind,  grind  of  the  multitudinous  rifles. 
High  up  in  the  murky  sky  the  on-lookers  at  the 
rear  see  soft  flashes  of  light  burst  into  puffs  of 
white-gray  smoke.  The  white-curtained  am- 
bulances wax  thicker  and  thicker  on  the  dusty 
road.  Wounded  men,  supported  by  one  and 
sometimes  by  three  comrades  who  have  thrown 
away  their  guas,  are  streaming  back  through 
the  woods.  Here  and  there  a  riderless  horse  is 
plunging  madly  across  the  withered  and  stony 
pastures,  or  cropping  a  mouthful  of  grass,  and 
then  turning  a  startled  look  in  the  direction 
whence  he  came.  Down  the  'pike  thunders  an 
aid  in  search  of  re-enforcements,  his  smoking 
mount  gray  with  dust  and  flecked  with  foam. 
Past  him  gallops  a  yellow-striped  orderly  on  his 
way  to  the  front,  with  buff  envelopes  drawn 
through  his  belt.  A  disabled  gun  has  been 
185 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


hauled  back  on  to  the  road -side,  and  the  ex- 
cited drivers  are  riding  the  smoking  teams  to 
the  rear.  Covered  wagons  are  paying  out 
telegraph  wire  over  short  poles  driven  into  the 
earth,  as  they  come  trending  in  the  direction  of 
army  headquarters. 

There  is  grim  order,  however,  in  the  seem- 
ing confusion.  The  forge  is  ablaze  in  the 
shabby  bivouac  of  Battery  Q's  impedimenta, 
and  the  leather-aproned  smith  is  shaping  a  shoe 
for  one  of  the  extra  horses.  There  is  the  round- 
topped  battery  wagon,  the  little  mess  wagon 
loaded  with  tents  and  camp  chairs,  and  the  big 
covered  van,  with  six  kicking  mules  fighting 
over  the  trough  fixed  on  the  pole.  And  there 
is  Uncle  Moses,  now  lamming  and  cursing  his 
charges,  and  now  talking  to  them  as  if  they 
were  intelligent  members  of  his  family. 

"  Yo'  low-down  white  Lize,  lemme  see  yo' 
kick  dat  line  mule  one  time  moah,  an'  yo'  Unc' 
Mose  ull  curry  yo'  down  wid  dis  yer  black- 
snake.  Does  yo'  year  me?  Whoa!  'Bang! 
Swish  !  '  1  mek  yo'  squat  down  an'  t'ank  de 
Lor'  I  di'n't  cut  yo'  heart  out  dat  time. 
Whoa!  " 

The  burly  quartermaster  is  strutting  up  and 
down,  big  with  the  importance  of  his  independ- 
ent command,  and  proud  of  his  indifference  to 
1 86 


"  The  Demented  Ones" 


the  roar  of  the  battle.  He  is  swearing  more 
than  the  occasion  calls  for — this  quartermaster 
who  said  his  prayers  and  read  his  Bible  night 
and  morning  in  a  top  bunk  of  the  Albany  bar- 
racks when  he  thought  he  was  going  to  certain 
death,  he  and  his  devout  bedfellow,  who  has  long 
since  deserted. 

Certainly  the  quartermaster  is  sore  tried  on 
these  peculiar  occasions,  when,  excepting  the 
smith  and  the  farrier  and  Uncle  Moses  and  the 
colored  servants  and  a  disabled  recruit  more  or 
less,  his  command  is  made  up  of  idiots  and 
mild  lunatics,  thrust  into  the  army  as  costly 
substitutes,  and  unloaded  on  Battery  Q, 
along  with  better  men,  with  the  occasional 
forced  details  from  the  infantry. 

These  merry  freaks,  first  or  last,  found  their 
righteous  water-level  in  the  spavined  train  of  the 
extra  horses. 

Charley  Fitch,  with  his  forage  -  cap  pulled 
down  until  his  ears  lop  under  the  rim,  is  seated 
under  the  battery  wagon  to  shelter  his  bare 
back  from  the  sun.  Fitch  stammered  so  badly 
when  he  spoke  that  his  mouth  drew  around 
toward  his  left  ear  and  his  right  shoulder 
twitched. 

Spence  lAisk.  his  comrade  in  adversity,  who 
was  sitting  near  him,  looked  on  at   the  rising 

187 


The  Demented  Ones" 


smoke  calmly,  for  he  was  deaf.  He  only  heard 
when  the  horse-doctor  punched  him  in  the  ribs, 
and  then,  knowing  that  something  was  being  said 
to  him,  he  said,  ' '  Yes. ' '  If  the  doctor  shook  his 
head,  Spence  hastened  to  say,  "  No,  marm." 
If  that  did  not  appear  to  satisfy  the  doctor, 
Spence  swore  mildly  and  said,  "  I  diin'no'." 
And  he  was  otherwise  so  slow  in  his  move- 
ments that  he  was  known  throughout  the  bat- 
tery as  "  Old  By-and-by. " 

These  two  were  drawn  to  each  other  by  the 
common  heritage  of  infirmities,  and  Charley 
took  Spence  imder  his  protection  with  a  great 
show  of  patronage  and  a  comfortable  assumption 
of  superiority.  Fifty  times  a  day  Charley  for- 
got that  Spence  was  deaf,  and  after  .saying  some- 
thing that  twisted  his  whole  body  in  the  effort, 
he  would  look  at  Spence  despairingly,  and  add, 
with  another  contortion,  "  Well,  you  no  good 
anyway,  'Pence  Lul-lul-lusk. " 

It  was  pathetic  to  see  these  two  friends  with- 
out any  friends,  each  mounted  on  a  galled 
horse  of  many  sores,  hung  with  festoons  of 
camp  kettles  and  nose-bags,  each  leading  two 
other  lame  or  otherwise  disabled  animals,  deco- 
rated with  rolls  of  blankets  and  strings  of  pots 
and  pans.  The  two  wore  their  overcoats  in 
August,  and  patiently  carried  every  bag  and 
1 88 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


burden  the  men  chose  to  strap  on  their  horses. 
In  camp  they  cleaned  and  fed  each  his  three 
charges,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day  they  ate  and 
slept,  and  at  night  they  crept  under  the  same 
dog-tent. 

After  feed  -  time  Charley  sidled  over  to 
Spence,  and  pulling  him  by  the  shoulder, 
shouted  in  his  ear  : 

"  There's  a  big  hors-pi-pi-pitile  down  by  the 
sta-sta-straw -stacks.     Common  !  " 

"Hain't  got  any,"  said  Spence,  who 
thought  Charley  was  asking  for  tobacco. 

"  You  ain't  no  good,"  said  Charley,  plucking 
him  by  the  arm,  and  away  the  two  friends  went 
together. 

The  -writhing  of  Charley's  body  showed  that 
he  was  making  another  fruitless  effort  to  com- 
municate some  sort  of  good  news  to  his  com- 
panion, and  then  he  caught  him  by  the  arm, 
and  after  pulling  him  to  a  halt,  made  a  saw  of 
his  right  hand,  and  worked  it  across  Spence's 
leg.  After  that  effort  at  pantomime  both  men 
galloped  off  in  great  glee. 

The  straw -stacks  were  in  a  rude  stable-yard 
enclosed  by  a  high  wall,  and  on  the  peak  of  the 
great  red  barn  floated  a  square  of  yellow  bunt- 
ing. Clean  yellow  straw  lay  thick  on  the  wide 
floors,  and  in  the  stables,  and  over  the  bottom 


The  Demented  Ones  " 


of  the  empty  bays.     The  whole  barn-yard  was 
strewn  with  it. 

When  the  two  demented  ones  dodged  under 
the  wheels  of  the  ambulances  unloading  at  the 
double  gates,  the  space  in  the  barn  was  already 
tenanted  by  a  ghastly  company,  and  the  busy 
bearers  were  laying  the  wounded  and  the  dying 
in  long  straight  rows  across  the  yard.  They 
looked  in  on  the  great  barn  floor.  A  tent  fly 
had  been  staked  out  over  the  south  doors  to 
ward  off  the  sun.  The  two  demented  ones 
were  bewildered  and  speechless  in  the  presence 
of  the  gory  spectacle  their  eyes  rested  on.  The 
frightened  swallows  were  flying  about  under  the 
great  roof,  and  shining  particles  of  dust  were 
floating  in  the  lances  of  light  streaming  through 
the  cracks  in  the  dark  siding,  and  lying  tender- 
ly across  the  forms  of  the  dead  and  the  grimy 
and  blood  -  stained  faces  of  the  living.  Some 
sat  up  with  crimson  and  white  handkerchiefs 
about  their  heads,  and  others  bent  over  their 
wounded  limbs.  The  doctors  were  roughly 
probing  for  bullets,  and  there  were  wailings  and 
cursing  and  laughter  ringing  up  to  the  rafters. 
A  peculiar  rattling  sound  reached  the  ears  of 
Charley.  Here  at  his  feet  lay  a  sight  that  held 
him  with  a  horrible  fascination.  It  was  the 
wounded  form  of  a  l:)oy  who  would  ne\er  see 
190 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


again,  his  face  shattered  beyond  recognition, 
and  in  his  dehrium  his  restless  hands  were  twist- 
ing and  twisting  and  twisting  a  thin  wisp  of 
broken  straws. 

"  Common,  Spence,"  said  Charley,  plucking 
the  other  by  the  arm  ;  and  they  picked  their 
way  out  among  the  rows  of  the  wounded,  the 
two  demented  ones  vaguely  conscious  that  by 
some  mysterious  transformation  they  were  rich 
and  prosperous  where  all  their  fellows  were  poor 
and  needy. 

Some  occult  influence  seemed  to  hold  the  two 
in  the  radius  of  the  horrors  they  would  fain  flee 
from,  and  once  out  of  the  yard,  their  feet  turned 
around  the  barn  to  the  shade  of  the  butternut- 
trees,  where  the  surgeons  in  threes  were  plying 
their  horrible  trade.  They  stood  at  a  distance 
outside  the  barricade  of  fanning  -  mills  and 
sheep-racks  blinking  in  the  hot  sun. 

"Them  fellers  don't  feel  nothin',"  said 
Spence,  meaning  the  anaesthetized  subjects  on 
the  tables. 

"Guess  I  know  th-a-a-at,"  said  Charley, 
writhing  and  twisting.  "  Common  ;  "  and  he 
led  the  willing  Spence  across  the  field  to  an- 
other hospital,  straw-strewn,  under  the  shade  of 
a  great  oak  in  the  quiet  pasture. 

On  the  eastern  border  of  this  circle  of  the 
191 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


unfortunate,  where  the  shadow  of  the  tree  was 
creeping  out  over  them  on  to  the  field  beyond, 
was  a  httle  patch  of  Confederates,  lying  by 
themselves,  and  in  front  of  these  the  two  wan- 
derers stopped  to  contemplate  the  greatest 
curiosity  they  had  yet  seen.  There  was  one,  a 
handsome  Virginia  boy,  his  tooth-brush  woven 
through  the  button-holes  of  his  gray  jacket,  who 
held  his  canteen  out  to  Charley,  and  begged 
him,  "  for  Christ's  sake,"  to  fill  it  with  water. 

Charley  took  the  curious  thick  canteen  of  un- 
covered tin  from  the  soldier's  hand,  and  pass- 
ing it  to  Spence,  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the 
spring.  Then  he  kneeled  down  beside  the  suf- 
ferer and  undid  his  roll  of  blankets,  adjusting 
them  under  his  head  and  about  his  wounded 
arm.  Charley  kept  Spence  going  to  and  from 
the  spring  until  every  man  Jack  of  the  enemy 
was  supplied  with  water. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  Virginian. 

"  That  ain't  no-n-nothin',"  twisted  Charley. 

"  What  is  your  regiment  ?  " 

"  'Tain't  no  r-r-regiment ;  it's  jis  Battery  Q." 

"  Battery  Q  ?  "  said  the  Southron.  "  Why, 
I  was  wounded  in  front  of  Battery  Q,  and  borne 
through  its  guns  to  the  ambulance.  A  tall 
captain,  black  beard,  Russian  shoulder  -  knots 
on  his  riding -jacket " 


19: 


"  The  Demented  Ones" 


"  Yas,"  said  Charley  ;  "that's  Captain  Ne- 
Neal." 

"Captain  Neal,"  said  the  other.  "Yes; 
he  gave  me  a  drink  from  his  flask.  The  bat- 
teries were  not  engaged  ;  it  was  the  infantry  ; 
the  trees  were  too  thick.  Great  God  !  "  said 
he,  thoughtfully;  "if  those  two  batteries 
should  open  on  each  other  at  a  hundred  yards  !  ' ' 

Then,  addressing  himself  to  Charley  and 
Spence,  in  view  of  their  patent  infirmities,  he 
asked  if  they  were  soldiers. 

"  No  ;  not  ezactly,"  said  Charley.  "I'm  a 
sub-sta-ta-ta-tute,  an'  he  ain't  no  good  ;  he's 
deef.     We  take  care  o'  extra  horses." 

The  wounded  Virginian  was  more  uneasy  in 
mind  than  in  body  ;  for,  as  it  transpired  from 
his  conversation  with  the  friend  who  lay  beside 
him,  he  was  to  have  been  married  within  the 
month.  He  could  wait,  if  only  she  knew  that 
he  was  alive  and  well,  with  only  an  arm  to 
lose.  "  If  I  could  only  get  word  to  Bob  " — 
that  was  his  brother.  Many  other  things  trans- 
pired, for  the  prisoners  talked  unreservedly  in 
the  presence  of  the  demented  ones,  who  sat  on 
the  ground  beside  them. 

"  Yes,  I  was  to  have  been  married  next  Sun- 
day a  week,  to  the  sweetest  girl  in  Falmouth 
County.     It  will  break  her  heart  if  she  hears  I 

193 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


am  dead.  If  I  could  step  across  and  tell  Bob 
how  the  land  lies,  all  would  be  right.  I  would 
be  willing  to  come  back.  But  for  the  awful 
uncertainty  about  my  life  or  death,  1  could  roll 
over  and  go  to  sleep." 

"  Poor  boy  and  poor  girl  !  "  thought  Char- 
ley. 

Then  the  two  prisonei-s  fell  to  comparing  the 
incidents  of  their  capture. 

"  Mine,"  said  the  Virginian,  "  was  about 
the  most  curious  thing  that  ever  happened,  and 
quite  the  most  unexpected.  My  brother,  Bob 
Chew,  commands  our  battery,  tangled  up  in 
this  infernal  wilderness,  and  just  in  the  front  of 
this  Battery  Q.  You  could  .sling  a  cat  across 
but  for  the  jungle  of  trees.  I  walked  out  into 
a  cart  track  just  south  of  the  right  gun,  not  a 
team's  length  away,  and  was  pulling  dewberries 
out  of  the  grass,  when  I  got  a  volley  out  of  a 
clear  sky,  and  two  infantry  men  ran  me  down  that 
grassy  road  beside  the  stone  wall ;  and  before  I 
realized  where  I  was,  I  was  rushed  through  the 
guns  of  this  same  Battery  Q.  And  here  I  am, 
and  here  I  must  stay — Lew  Chew,  a  prisoner." 

Charley  blinked  and  writhed  his  shoulders, 
and  made  an  involuntary  tace  at  Spence  ;  but 
with  all  his  outward  infirmity  he  possessed  a 
singularly    retentive    memory.      He    made    no 

194 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


combinations,  formulated  no  plans,  but  the 
picture  of  the  brother  in  command  of  his  bat- 
tery in  front  of  Battery  Q  was  fixed  in  his 
clouded  mind,  and  the  name  of  Captain  Chew 
rang  in  his  ears — Bo^  CJiew  !  Sympathy  for 
the  wounded  brother  Lew  had  also  taken  hold 
of  Charley.  He  only  knew  that  he  felt  sorry 
and  queer,  and  the  writhing  of  his  body  and 
the  twitching  of  his  face  were  the  unconscior.s 
outward  evidence  of  a  half- conscious  inward 
state.  Spence  heard  nothing-,  saw  little,  com- 
prehended less. 

When  the  two  returned  to  the  camp  of  the 
impedimenta,  it  was  to  find  their  great  com- 
mander, the  Napoleon  of  quartermaster  -  ser- 
geants, vaporing  and  swearing.  He  too  had 
just  retiu-ned,  not  from  the  rear,  but  from  the 

front,  "  by ,  sir  !  "    From  the  front,  where 

Battery  Q  had  covered  itself  with  glory,  and 
the  officers  (what  remained  of  them)  had  sent 
back  for  hot  coffee. 

"  And  where  is  the    cook  to    make  it,  and 

who  is  to  carry  it  up  ?     Where  are  the  d 

officers'  slaves?  A  smotherin'  th'ir  woolly 
heads  under  some  hay-stack ;  or,  more  like, 
buried  in  swamp  mud,  drawin'  th'ir  breath 
through  a  section  of  stove-pipe."  He  declared 
he  would  shoot  them  on  the  edge  of  their  re- 

195 


"  11)6  Demented  Ones" 


turn.  "  Charley,  come  here.  What  do  you 
know?  Hold  your  tongue  !  Saddle  your  horse. 
Silence,  and  do  as  I  tell  you." 

Exeunt  Charley  and  his  patron  saint.  Enter 
the  quartermaster  and  horse-doctor  with  a  kettle 
of  coffee. 

In  the  middle  distance  is  Charley  seated  on 
a  bony  gray  horse  ;  Charley's  shoulders  and  the 
gray's  rump  plentifully  sprinkled  with  chopped 
hay  and  chaff.  The  two  straps  of  his  overcoat 
hang  loose  from  the  small  of  his  back,  and  his 
elongated  forage-cap  is  crushed  down,  like  a 
drunken  extinguisher,  far  below  his  turned-up 
coat  collar.  A  nose-bag  full  of  curry-combs  is 
buckled  around  the  neck  of  the  patient  horse, 
and  a  festoon  of  canteens  and  frying-pans  deco- 
rates the  cantle  of  the  saddle. 

The  road  is  filled  with  batteries  and  ammu- 
nition wagons  going  and  coming,  so  that  our 
humble  purveyors  of  coffee  take  to  the  fields, 
riding  Indian  file  and  in  Indian  silence,  the 
sergeant,  scowling,  in  advance,  and  Charley 
turning  his  head  from  side  to  side.  In  one  di- 
rection he  seeks  a  park  of  pontoon  boats  ad- 
vanced into  the  shelter  of  the  woods  ;  and  in 
the  other  the  commanding  general,  at  the  head 
of  a  bedraggled  staff,  returning  from  a  personal 
inspection  of  the  lines. 

196 


"  The  Demented  Ones" 


All  is  still  at  the  front,  and  seemingly  motion- 
less, until  they  pass  the  first  curtain  of  woods, 
and  come  suddenly  upon  countless  masses  of 
infantry  marching  with  an  easy  swing  to  the 
left.  The  batteries  are  choking  the  sandy 
cross  -  roads.  No  drums,  no  bugles,  only  the 
jangle  of  equipments,  the  shucking  of  wheels, 
and  the  rattle  of  harness  ;  a  quiet  command, 
a  ribald  joke,  a  ringing  oath.  Two  corps  are 
swinging  from  right  to  left  in  preparation  for  a 
new  attack  at  daylight. 

"Are  we  going  to  the  f-f-front  ?  "  Charley 
ventured  to  ask. 

"  Yes  ;  to  be  shot,"  was  the  sergeant's  surly 
rejoinder. 

And  on  they  push  as  before,  through  and  be- 
yond the  moving  columns.  And  here  is  the 
position  of  Battery  Q,  facing  the  green  wall  of 
a  tangled  wood  at  a  hundred  feet  interval,  with 
guns  double-shotted  with  canister ;  a  battalion 
of  infantry,  lounging  in  two  detachments  about 
stacked  arms  behind  either  flank,  kindling  fires 
oftwigs  and  stubble  to  boil  the  everlasting  quart - 
cup.  The  numbers  about  the  guns  are  loung- 
ing and  even  sleeping  near  their  places.  The 
lids  of  the  green  limbers  are  clo.sed,  and  the 
thirsty  horses  are  going  back  in  teams  of  sixes 
for  water.     It  is  an  anomalous  situation  for  a 

197 


•'  The  Demented  Ones" 


long-range  battery.  A  few  men  and  horses 
have  gone  down  during  the  long  day  before  the 
hissing  bullets  now  and  then  singing  over  the 
field  from  distant  sharp  -  shooters,  or  spitting 
through  the  trees  from  the  positions  of  the 
skirmishers.  Not  a  shot  has  been  fired  by  the 
black  guns,  and  the  duty  of  the  support  has 
been  a  sinecure  of  idleness,  a  tedious  and  trying 
service  of  nervous  inactivity,  listening  by  the 
hour  to  the  ripping  of  musketry  up  and  down 
the  line,  where  whole  corps  are  storming  the 
burning  woods,  breathing  the  drifting  sulphur- 
ous smoke,  and  waiting,  waiting. 

No  wonder  the  captain  is  nervous  and  irri- 
table, and  thankful  for  the  setting  sun  and  the 
jaded  orderly  who  brings  him  orders  to  be  ready 
to  move  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  To  the 
left,  always  to  the  left.  A  vision  of  the  imper- 
turbable commander-in-chief  rises  from  the 
cramped  lines  within  that  yellow  envelope.  To 
wait  is  patience  ;  to  move  is  destiny. 

The  quartermaster,  followed  by  his  queer  at- 
tendant grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  or  rather  up 
toward  one  ear  in  particular,  to  see  the  boys  at 
the  front,  comes  charging  at  a  walk  on  the 
ledge  of  rocks  where  the  hungry  officers  are 
seated. 

*'Just   the  man    we   want,    Charley,"    cries 


"  The  Demented  Ones" 


Lieutenant  Sanderson,  coming  over  to  take  the 
welcome  coffee-pot.  '■  Major  Black  has  lost  a 
collar-bone,  and  the  doctor  is  looking  for  a  sub- 
stitute. ' ' 

"Don't  let  him  guy  you,  Charley,"  said 
Mink.  "  You've  got  the  Iresh  bloom  of  the 
wagons  on  you.  It  does  one  good  to  see  you 
rise  out  of  these  d hot  weeds." 

Charley  is  a  privileged  character  at  the  front, 
and  as  he  dismounts  and  leads  his  stumbling 
gray  among  the  guns,  the  merriment  goes  with 
him,  as  the  laughing  wavelets  follow  the  glid- 
ing boat. 

"  Dry  up  I  "  "  Come  off  !  "  "  Yous  no 
good  !  "  are  the  burden  of  Charley's  rejoinder. 
In  an  absent-minded  way  he  is  thinking  of  the 
Confederate  prisoner  hustled  through  these  same 
guns,  and  of  the  other  battery  masked  not  so  very 
far  away.  Kicking  the  stones  and  weeds,  he  wan- 
ders over  to  the  thicket  for  a  whip.  He  twists 
off  a  chestnut  sprout,  and  tucks  a  spray  of  wild 
roses  in  old  gray's  headstall.  At  his  feet  is  a 
cart  rut  leading  into  a  tunnel  of  green.  Char- 
ley wanders  on  into  the  cool  retreat.  There  is 
the  wall  of  stones  beside  the  path.  He  sees  be- 
fore him  the  real  counterpart  of  the  picture  the 
wounded  Virginian  painted  on  his  brain  in  the 
shade  of  the  hospital  tree.     Why  not  ride  over 

199 


The  Demented  Ones  " 


and  send  a  message  to  that  "  pooty  "  Falmouth 
girl  ?  The  boys  think  he  is  a  fool.  ?Ie  has  a 
vague  idea  of  distinguishing  himself.  He  clam- 
bers into  the  saddle,  and  rides  down  the  path, 
wagging  his  head  and  working  his  shoulders, 
and  doubtless  thinking  queer  thoughts  as  his 
horse  picks  his  way  among  the  outcropping 
rocks. 

"  Halt !  "  cried  a  blue  picket,  rising  out  of 
the  bushes.  ''  Where  do  you  think  you  are 
going,  you  blooming  idiot?  " 

"I  dun'no',"  said  Charley.  "Do  y-y- 
you?" 

"Yes;  you're  going  straight  to  the  devil," 
said  the  man,  laughing.  "  I  fired  my  gun  at 
a  sneaking  rebel  just  now.  Are  you  deaf? 
Turn  back,  you  fool;  "  and  the  man  lazily 
drew  his  ramrod  to  reload. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Charley,  making  a  hideous 
face  at  the  picket  as  he  plied  whip  and  heels  to 
his  horse,  and  shot  around  a  bend  in  the  tun- 
nel of  green,  chuckling  and  bumping  like  an 
ape  on  horseback. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  further  on  he  is  halted 
again  with  a  round  oath,  and  a  black  rifle-bar- 
rel levelled  at  his  breast. 

"You're  my  prisoner;  'light  off  that 
horse. ' ' 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


"  Tha-tha-t's  all  right,"  said  Charley,  slid- 
ing down  to  the  ground  as  he  was  ordered. 
"  That's  w'at  I  corned  fur." 

"You  want  to  desert,  do  you,  you  lousy 
Yankee?  You  don't  look  like  we-uns  wanted 
you." 

"  You're  a  1-1-liar,"  screamed  Charley.  "  I 
don't  want  to  de-de-desert.  I  want  ter  see 
Capt'n  Chew.  Didn't  ye  never  see  a  flag  o' 
truce?  "  said  Charley,  whipping  a  dirty  cotton 
handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket. 

The  Confederate  picket  called  a  comrade  to 
take  his  place,  and  started  to  the  rear,  leading 
the  horse  and  cursing  and  wondering  by  turns 
at  the  curious  fish  he  had  taken  in  his  net. 

"  You  take  me  to  Cap'n  Chew's  b-battery," 
said  Charley,  turning  back  on  his  guard,  "  'cos 
his  brother  is  a-dyin'  over  yonder." 

"  You're  a  fool,"  said  the  guard,  and  turn- 
ing up  the  hill  to  the  right,  he  drove  his  charge 
into  a  park  of  shining  Napoleons  crowning  a 
rocky  ledge,  with  lunettes  of  rails  and  dirt 
circHng  in  front  of  each  frowning  gun. 

"I've  brought  you  a  lunatic,"  said  the 
picket,  addressing  himself  to  the  surging  circle 
of  men  and  officers.  "  He  has  some  sort  of  a 
message  for  Captain  Chew." 

In  his  embarrassment,   Charley    more    than 


The  Demented  Ones" 


justified  his  keeper's  description  by  grimaces 
and  wri things. 

"Be  you  Cap'n  Bob  Ch-Che\v  ? "  cried 
Charley,  cutting  a  circle  in  the  air  with  his 
thumb,  and  jabbing  his  head  sideways  at  the 
officer  he  elected  for  the  Captain. 

''  Yes,"  said  the  Captain  ;   "  go  on." 

"Well,  then,"  began  Charley,  gathering 
himself  together  for  a  long  speech,  "  your 
brother  Lew  sent  me  over  here  t'  tell  you  t'  tell 
that  pooty  gal  in  Fal-Fal-mouth  that  he  got  his 
arm  shot,  an'  can't  m-m-marry  her  next 
week." 

"  Come  to  my  tent,"  said  the  Captain,  part- 
ing his  way  through  the  crowd  and  taking 
Charley  by  the  arm. 

There  was  a  long  interview  between  the  two, 
in  which  Charley  described  as  best  he  could  the 
desperate  situation  of  the  young  Virginian. 

"  He's  got  ter  have  his  arm  took  off  short," 
said  Charley. 

The  excited  brother  walked  up  and  down 
under  the  trees.  "  You  are  an  artillery-man  ?  " 
said  the  Captain,  halting  square  in  front  of  our 
hero. 

"  No  ;  n-nothin'  but  a  sub-sta-sta-tute,"  said 
Charley. 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ?  "  said  the  other. 


The  Demented  Ones  " 


"  I  come  up  along  o'  the  quartermaster  to 
bring  the  Cap'n  his  coffee,  an'  I  rid  out  here  t' 
tell  you  how  Lew  was  shot,  an'  couldn't  m-m- 
marrythe  pootygal,"  said  Charley,  with  a  great 
and  successful  effort. 

' '  You  belong  to  a  battery  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do." 

*'  What  one?  " 

"  Battery  k-k-Q." 

"  And  who  commands  Battery  Q  ?  " 

"Cap'n  Ne-Neal." 

"  Where  is  Captain  Neal's  Battery  Q?  " 

"No  ma-ma-matter,"  said  Charley,  with  a 
writhing  contortion  that  winked  one  eye  invol- 
untarily.     "  I  guess  I  told  ye  all  I  k-k-know." 

"  And  I  reckon  you  are  a  pretty  good  sol- 
dier, and  don't  know  it,"  said  Captain  Chew. 
"  I  suppose  you  want  to  go  back  to  Battery  Q?  " 

"  I  knowed  you'd  s-send  me  back  s-safe," 
said  Charley,  "  'cos  I  cum  for  Lew." 

The  Captain  had  a  consultation  with  his  of- 
ficers, during  which  the  guard  again  took  charge 
of  the  prisoner. 

"  Many  more  like  you-uns  'mongst  the 
Yanks?"  said  a  long  -  geared  driver,  lifting 
Charley's  cap  from  his  head. 

"You  ain't  n-no  good,"  said  Charley. 
"  Gimme  that  cap." 

203 


"  The  Demented  Ones" 


"  Look  alive,  boys  !  "  said  the  other  ;  "he's 
gettin'  ready  to  jump  down  his  throat." 

"Gimme  that  cap!"  screamed  Charley, 
making  a  futile  effort  to  reach  it  from  the  long 
driver's  hand. 

The  high  words  and  jeering  laughter  reached 
the  ears  of  Captain  Bob  Chew,  Avho  strode  to 
Charley's  side  with  flashing  eyes.  "This 
young  gentleman  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  will  punish  the  first  man  who  insults 
him  by  word  or  look.  Smith,  hand  him  his 
cap.  Now  say,  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.' 
Very  well,  sir.  Now  go  back  to  your  team. 
Now,  my  boy,"  said  Captain  Chew,  "I  am 
going  to  send  you  back,  with  a  letter  to  your 
Captain,  and  with  a  bundle  of  clothing  which  I 
am  sure  you  will  deliver  safely  to  my  poor 
brother. ' ' 

The  gray  horse,  with  his  frying-pans  and 
nose-bags,  was  led  out,  and  the  Confederate 
Captain  held  Charley's  stirrup  with  all  the  po- 
liteness he  would  have  shown  a  fine  lady.  The 
bundle  of  clothing  was  strapped  fast  behind  his 
saddle.  The  directions  for  placing  him  outside 
the  lines  were  carefully  given  to  the  officer  of 
the  pickets. 

"And  now,  my  fine  fellow,"  said  Captain 
Chew,  grasping  Charley's  hand,  "you  have 
204 


The  Demented  Ones  " 


done  me   a  service  I  am   powerless   to   repay. 

Good-by,   and   God   bless   you  !      And  d 

the  man  that  dares  to  do  you  harm  ! 

By  this  time  the  soft  moonlight  was  falling 
through  the  tree-tops.  The  little  company  of 
Charley's  escort  vied  with  each  other  to  do 
him  honor.  They  shook  hands  with  him  all 
round  at  the  outpost,  and  gave  the  gray  horse  a 
friendly  whack  at  parting. 

It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  the  men  of  Battery 
Q  were  sleeping  under  the  carriages,  when  an 
infantry  picket  emerged  from  the  tunnel  of 
green  leading  Charley's  horse,  that  afflicted 
young  gentleman  sitting  bolt  -  upright  in  the 
saddle,  as  proud  as  a  knight. 

Mink  and  Sanderson  and  Captain  Neal  were 
seated  on  the  supper  rocks  in  the  moonlight, 
canvassing  the  disappearance  of  Charley.  The 
two  other  lieutenants  were  already  rolled  up  in 
their  blankets. 

On  came  the  corporal  of  the  guard  conduct- 
ing the  picket,  and  riding  between  them  the 
silent  culprit.     Captain  Neal  sprang  to  his  feet. 

'<  Where  in  thunder  have  you  been,  Char- 
ley?    We  never  expected  to  see  you  alive." 

"Oh,  that's  all  r-right,  Capt'n.  I've  been 
over  to  see  the  J-Johnnies.  Here's  a  1-letter 
for  you." 

205 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


"  Is  he  crazy?"  muttered  Captain  Neal,  as 
he  took  the  letter  to  the  hght  of  a  smouldering 
fire. 

"  Captain  Neal,  Battery  Q.  Politeness  of 
Charley. ' ' 

The  letter  conveyed  the  compliments  of  Cap- 
tain Robert  Chew  to  Captain  Neal,  stating  in 
brief  the  service  Charley  had  rendered,  and 
begging  the  Captain  to  see  that  the  bundle  of 
clothing  was  delivered  as  directed. 

In  five  minutes  half  the  battery  was  awake 
and  crowding  around  the  hero  of  the  advent- 
ure. 

"  These  things  must  be  delivered  at  once," 
said  Captain  Neal,  in  his  short,  nervous  way. 
"  The  trains  are  marching.  Charley  will 
have  to  move  with  us  to-night.  Look  here. 
Mink,  can  Charley  ride  your  horse?  " 

"Of  course,"  said  Mink.  "He  can  ride 
the  devil,  once  put  him  in  the  saddle." 

"  Have  him  saddled,  then,"  said  the  Captain, 
"  and  strap  that  bundle  behind  as  taut  as  a  sail 
in  the  wind.  Order  both  buglers  to  saddle. 
Ho,  Dick  !  Where  are  you  ?  Put  the  saddle 
on  Black  Prince.  We  will  execute  this  little 
commission  in  state,"  said  the  Captain,  walking 
nervously  back  and  forth  on  the  turf.  "And 
all  honor  to  Charley  !  " 

206 


The  Demented  Ones'' 


The  boys  howled  with  dehght. 

When  the  horses  came  up,  the  two  natty 
buglers  sitting  erect  and  silent,  sniffing  the 
fun  like  their  mounts.  Captain  Neal  turned  to 
Charley  : 

"  You  are  going  to  ride  with  me,  young  man. 
I  expect  you  to  stick  to  my  off-  stirrup  like  a 
chestnut  burr  to  a  sheep's  wool.  Do  you  un- 
derstand ? ' ' 

"  I  understa-sta-stand,"  said  Charley,  "  you 
bet." 

The  boys  held  the  curb  of  xVIink's  mettlesome 
chestnut  until  stirrup  and  rein  were  adjusted  to 
Charley's  satisfaction  ;  then  the  Captain  swung 
himself  into  the  saddle. 

Three  cheers  and  a  tiger  were  given  for 
Charley  Fitch  as  the  snorting  horses  sprang 
forward  over  the  turf.  The  Captain  turned  out 
of  his  way  to  leap  a  log  or  a  ditch,  but  Char- 
ley, with  his  telescope  cap  clawed  down  to  his 
lopping  ears,  was  square  with  his  elbow,  never 
before  and  never  behind  ;  and  the  silent 
buglers  were  plunging  after  them,  keeping  a 
mathematical  interval,  with  their  chins  in  the 
air,  their  elbows  squared,  and  their  brazen 
bugles  flashing  from  the  small  of  their  backs. 
Over  a  ridge  and  down  a  bank  they  shoot,  out 
on  to  the  silent  turnpike,  white  in  the  moon- 
207 


"  The  Demented  Ones'' 


light,  four  sets  of  hoofs  ringing  on  the  hard 
road-bed.  To  Charley  it  is  the  proudest  mo- 
ment of  his  life  as  he  glances  between  the  sharp 
ears  of  the  leaping  chestnut,  and  then  twists 
his  eyes  and  mouth  on  the  glittering  shoulder- 
knots  of  the  Captain. 

"You  ride  like  a  brick,"  said  the  Captain, 
drawing  rein  for  the  first  time. 

"  The  boys  th-th-thought  1  was  a  fool,"  said 
Charley. 

"  Tom  Brown  was  shot  to-day,"  said  the 
Captain.      "  Would  you  like  his  team  ?  " 

"Yes,  Captain,  I  would.  Will  ye  le-let 
me  ?  " 

"  If  you  think  you  could  take  a  new  uniform 
and  keep  it  clean." 

"By  gum!"  cried  Charley;  "I'll  be  the 
biggest  dandy  in  the  b-battery  !  " 

"Then  you  shall  have  it,  my  boy,"  said  the 
Captain  ;   "and  here  we  go." 

And  away  they  tore  in  the  yellow  moonlight, 
until  they  were  close  upon  the  moving  lights 
under  the  hospital  tree.  The  silent  buglers 
took  the  panting  horses.  The  Captain  loosened 
the  bundle  of  clothing,  and  handed  it  to  Char- 
ley. 

The  wretched  company  had  increased  its 
circumference    under    the    tree,    but     Charley 


The  Demented  Ones'' 


picked  his  unerring  way  among  the  wounded 
until  he  reached  the  little  circle  of  gray  coats. 

"  Lew  Chew!  "   cried  Charley. 

"  Here,"  said  the  young  Virginian,  raising 
his  sound  arm,  and  looking  out  of  the  shadows 
at  the  strange  visitor  and  at  the  tall  officer  fol- 
lowing. 

"  Here's  the  things  yer  b-brother  sent,"  said 
Charley,  laying  the  bundle  beside  him.  "  I 
told  him  you  c-couldn't  come  to  marry  the 
pooty  gal." 

* '  Have  you  seen  my  brother  ?  ' '  cried  the 
happy  boy.  "  God  forgive  me,  I  didn't  under- 
stand you  !  "  And  he  was  wringing  Charley's 
hand. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  the  Captain  ;  "he  has  been 
through  the  lines.  Heaven  only  knows  how  he 
did  it !  Here  is  the  letter  your  brother  A\Tote 
me.  Keep  it  while  I  go  and  see  what  can  be 
done  for  your  comfort. ' ' 

The  poor  wounded  boy  could  hardly  believe 
he  was  awake ;  it  was  all  too  good  to  be  true. 
During  the  Captain's  prolonged  absence,  Char- 
ley dilated  on  the  scenes  and  events  of  his  pas- 
sage across  the  lines,  and  his  short  sojourn  in 
the  Confederate  battery,  with  wonderful  volu- 
bility for  him,  and  with  involuntary  gyrations 
and  convulsions  and  grimaces,  which  were  by 

209 


"  The  Demented  Ones  " 


no  means  the  cause  of  the  happy  Virginian's 
half-hysterical  glee.  The  wounded  arm  was 
not  to  be  amputated. 

"You  are  a  brick,"  cried  the  Virginian, 
wringing  Charley's  hand  for  the  twentieth  time. 

And  then  came  the  other  brick,  Captain 
Neal,  with  the  chief  surgeon  in  tow,  and  two 
muscular  hospital  nurses. 

"We  have  no  use  for  bridegrooms-elect," 
said  the  doctor.  •'  Let's  rob  the  government 
this  time,  and  send  him  back  by  the  same  un- 
derground road."  Then  to  the  bearers, 
"  Bring  that  man  carefully  out  of  the  crowd." 

"Now  hold  the  lantern  here."  It  is  the 
Captain  speaking.  "  Here  is  your  parole  ;  sign 
it.  We  believe  you  will  keep  it  like  an  honor- 
able gentleman  until  you  are  notified  of  your 
official  exchange  ;  and  here  is  a  letter  to  your 
brother. ' ' 

The  letter  conveyed  the  compliments  of  Cap- 
tain John  Neal  to  Captain  Robert  Chew,  and 
congratulations  to  the  bride-elect. 

The  wounded  prisoner  was  lifted  into  the 
saddle  by  Bugler  Ohld,  who  walked  at  his  side. 
He  was  sent  down  the  tunnel  of  green  on  the 
worthless  gray,  and  before  marching-time  in  the 
morning,  the  old  horse  came  back  with  Captain 
Chew's  card  nailed  to  the  empty  saddle. 


"  The  Demented  Ones" 


For  five  days  of  merry  fighting  the  rejuve- 
nated Charley,  in  a  brand-new  uniform,  sat  his 
lead-team  blinking  and  grimacing  at  the  fiery 
shells  dealing  destruction  about  him.  On  the 
sixth  he  presented  himself  before  the  Captain, 
heels  together  and  head  up.  Sitha  Charley  : 
"  It  ain't  m-my  fault,  Capt'n.  I  know  I  ain't 
ornam-m-mental  on  a  lead-team.  Guess  I  bet- 
ter go  back  an'  clean  up  old  Spence.  He  ain't 
no  good  the  way  he  is. ' ' 


The   Horses   that   Responded 


THE  HORSES  THAT  RESPONDED 

WHEN  Lieutenants  Mink  and  Sander- 
son of  Battery  Q  felt  the  crying 
need  of  other  society  than  that  of  their 
martial  comrades  of  the  mess,  they  ordered 
their  horses  and  took  their  way  to  the  red 
brick  house  on  the  hill,  surrounded  by  tall  lo- 
custs and  elms  shaped  like  umbrellas.  There 
lived  the  old  Colonel  Nicholas  Randolph,  an 
invalided  relic  of  earlier  wars,  and  his  two 
daughters,  Trot  and  Plumb. 

The  way  lay  through  a  narrow  lane,  whose 
walls  of  stone  were  not  available  for  fuel  in  the 
camps.  The  old  house  was  within  the  lines, 
and  for  the  protection  of  their  new-found  friends 
the  two  young  officers  had  billeted  a  battery 
guard  on  the  place. 

The  youngsters  were  always  received  by  the 
old  Colonel  with  a  pompous  oration,  all  just  as 
if  he  had  never  seen  them  before. 

"Will  one  of  you  gentlemen  oblige  an  old 
wreck  by  opening  that  doah  into  the  hallway  ? 
1  thank  you,  sir.     Ge — urls  !   Ge — urls  ! 

215 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


"  The  old  times  have  gone,  sir.  The  Old 
Dominion  is  crushed  for  the  time  being,  sir, 
under  the  heel  of  the  invader.  My  honored 
friend,  Bob  Lee,  will  return  to  the  fair  fields  of 
Culpepper  County.  In  the  meantime,  while 
we  are  waiting  fo'  Bob  as  it  were,  the  flowing 
bowl  of  the  house  of  Randolph  is  at  the  service 
of  the  invader  within  its  gates.  If  I  could  get 
off  the  small  of  my  back,  gentlemen,  I  should 
be  riding  with  Bob  and  hunting  such  gallant 
game  as  you  gentlemen  I  see  befo'  me,  instead 
of  grinning  at  you  between  two  ornery  old  car- 
pet slippers,  the  helpless  old  booby  that  I  am." 

The  tall,  fair  daughters  of  Nicholas  Randolph 
stand  responsive,  in  the  old  doorway,  to  the 
summons  of  their  father. 

"  Trot,  my  dear,  and  Plumb,  you  are  not 
unacquainted  with  the  cultured  gentlemen  from 
the  North  who  have  honored  me  with  their 
company  this  evening. ' ' 

It  is  one  o'clock  by  the  tall  old  timekeeper  in 
the  hall. 

"  Come  here,  Plumb,  you  huzzy,  and  shift 
my  left  foot  the  sixteenth  of  an  inch  to  the 
right.  Now  bring  a  bottle  of  the  '56  grape. 
If  Nicholas  Randolph,  Esquire,  is  /lors  de  coin- 
bat  for  the  time  being,  gentlemen,  I  reckon  he 
can  fire  one  more  volley  of  grape  into  you  ias- 
216 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


cinating  gentlemen    from    the    invading    artil- 
lery." 

"And  there  is  not  a  thirsty  beggar  of  us  in 
Battery  Q  knows  how  to  dodge  that  sort  of 
ammunition,"  said  Mink,  stretching  out  his 
long  legs,  and  toeing  over  to  keep  his  spurs  out 
of  the  ancient  flowered  carpet. 

"  By  the  way.  Colonel,  I  brought  you  a  bun- 
dle of  the  latest  New  York  papers. ' ' 

"  Burn  New  York  !  ' '  cried  the  old  man  out  of 
the  depth  of  his  cushions.  "  Saving  your  pres- 
ence, gentlemen,  what  irritates  me  is  that  that 
youngster  [Mink  is  out  in  the  gallery,  despatch- 
ing the  guard  to  his  saddle  pockets],  ova'- 
whelming  us  all  with  kindness,  is  a  bohn  gen- 
tleman from  the  guns  on  his  cap  to  the  spurs  on 
his  heels  when  he's  ho  business  to  be,  by  gad, 
sir  !  and  I  am  a  disgrace  to  Virginia,  but  I 
love  you  both,  sir." 

The  grizzled  old  Colonel,  with  his  thin,  high 
nose  like  a  hawk's  beak,  and  two  restless  gray 
eyes  twinkling  out  of  two  cavernous  sally-ports, 
the  bony  head  fringed  with  a  bristling  abatis  of 
coarse  iron-gray  hair,  is  literally  resting  on  the 
small  of  his  back.  His  feet  are  elevated  on  a 
padded  support  nearly  as  high  as  the  back  of 
his  chair.  His  rheumatic  hands,  the  purple  fin- 
gers stiffened  outward  at  an  obtuse  angle  with 
217 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


the  palms,  lie  restless  at  his  sides.  The  Colonel 
rests  in  a  nest  of  cushions,  like  a  Coehorn  mor- 
tar in  its  bed,  and  the  whole  complex  outfit  is 
mounted  on  wheels.  The  door-sills  were  lev- 
elled twenty  years  ago  for  the  easy  transit  of 
the  old  master's  gun-carriage,  who  thunders  at 
his  attendants  on  his  way  to  the  gallery  as  he 
stormed  Chapultepec. 

Mink,  with  the  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand, 
whispered  an  order  to  the  guard,  and  as  the 
Colonel's  car  rolled  through  the  doorway,  that 
belted  and  shining  soldier  presented  sabre. 
A  moist  light  shone  in  the  old  man's  eyes, 
and  his  right  hand  struggled  with  the  cush- 
ions. 

"  By  the  left  flank  !  "  he  cried.  "  March  ! 
Front ! — Now,  my  dears,  for  the  glasses." 

"  Let  me  name  the  toast,"  said  Mink.  '"To 
the  days  when  we  shall  all  be  at  peace.'  " 
And  it  was  turned  off  silently,  pretty  Trot 
touching  her  daddy's  lips  with  the  clumsy  lit- 
tle one-legged  cup  of  cut  glass. 

"  With  your  consent,  Colonel,"  .said  Mink, 
"  Miss  Plumb  and  I  are  going  for  another  gal- 
lop out  toward  the  mountain.  I'll  detail 
Sanderson  to  stay  with  you  and  hold  Miss  Ran- 
dolph's yarn." 

"  No  !  "  cried  the  Colonel.  "  Plumb  shall 
218 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


not  go.  The  roads  are  not  safe.  I'll  not 
have  you  captured  in  the  company  of  my 
daughter,  sir. 

This  rejoinder  from  the  Colonel  was  no  more 
than  Mink  expected,  and  the  velvet  -  tongued 
Plumb  hovered  persuasive,  as  usual,  over  her 
daddy's  chair  until  the  old  gentleman  came 
round  to  her  way  of  thinking. 

"  I've  struck  my  colors,"  said  the  Colonel, 
' '  so  many  times  to  that  girl  already,  I  may  as 
well  haul  down  the  garrison  flag  altogether  and 
burn  the  staff — hey.  Lieutenant  ?  ' ' 

The  soft  air  was  loaded  with  the  perfume  of 
honeysuckles  from  the  curtain  of  vines  closing 
the  south  end  of  the  high  Doric  porch.  By 
turning  his  head  to  one  side  the  Colonel  looked 
out  over  his  fenceless  fields  to  the  purple  walls 
of  the  Blue  Ridge.  There  was  not  a  visible 
sign  of  the  great  army  camping  so  near,  except 
perhaps  in  the  dearth  of  rails  and  stacks,  and  in 
the  plenitude  of  crows  and  buzzards  flapping 
against  the  cloudless  sky.  Down  by  the  en- 
trance gate  two  orderlies  stood  with  the  horses, 
and  the  Colonel  asked  that  the  animals  be 
brought  in  on  the  drive,  for,  after  all  these 
years,  his  heart  was  still  true  to  a  horse. 

The  old  man's  appreciative  eye  ran  over  the 
powerful  shoulders,  short  back,  and  flat  legs  of 

219 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


Mink's  chestnut,  and  then  up  to  the  animal's 
bony  head  and  large,  nervous  nostril. 

"There's  ahorse,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"  If  you  ever  get  in  a  tight  place,  Mr.  Mink, 
big  as  you  are,  burn  my  body  but  he  will  carry 
you  out  of  it." 

"  When  he  gets  in  a  tight  place,"  said  San- 
derson, "  he  rides  a  government  horse.  What 
do  you  think  of  my  bay.  Colonel  ?  Swing  him 
around,  Dennis.  Miss  Plumb  will  ride  him  to- 
day." 

"  Plumb  will  have  her  hands  full,"  muttered 
the  Colonel,  "  but  she  can  ride  him,  sir;  if  she 
couldn't,  sir,  I'd  cut  her  off  without  a  shilling. 
I  raised  my  girls  in  the  paddock  with  the  colts  ;" 
and  the  Colonel  fed  his  eyes  complacently  on 
the  glossy  coats  of  the  horses,  reflecting  the 
blue  of  the  sky  above  and  catching  the  warm 
lights  from  below.  "Take  up  another  link  in 
the  curb  chain,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  Mink 
walked  over  to  inspect  his  orderly's  work  and 
give  another  strain  to  the  girths  of  the  young 
lady's  saddle  ;  "  hey,  Mr.  Sanderson,  you  know 
his  mouth." 

And  here  comes  Plumb  as  fresh  as  a  peach, 
with  a  kiss  for  the  Colonel,  and  one  little  hand 
for  Lieutenant  Sanderson,  who  has  furnished 
her  mount — Plumb  in  a  ravishing  habit  of  gray. 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


with  a  white  felt  hat  on  her  chestnut  hair, 
which  falls  behind  in  a  net,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  that  benighted  time,  a  red  rose  at 
her  throat,  and  a  stiff  little  scarlet  feather  in  her 
hat-band,  complimentary  to  the  colors  of  her 
artillery  escort. 

The  pair — shall  I  say  the  lovers  ?  I  fear  so  ; 
for  that  rogue  of  a  Mink  was  quite  equal  to  the 
indiscretion,  and  young  girls  were  never  yet 
proof  against  the  wiles  of  the  enemy — rode 
demurely  down  the  pied  avenue.  Then,  too, 
when  Mink  whistled  up  his  orderly  and  gra- 
ciously excused  his  further  attendance,  that 
shrewd  young  fellow  concluded  it  was  a  far 
gone  case,  and  chuckled  and  winked  to  himself 
as  he  galloped  across  the  fields  to  the  camp. 

It  is  of  no  great  moment  to  anyone  but 
themselves  just  what  these  young  persons  said  to 
each  other  as  they  rode  at  a  walk  under  the 
spreading  trees,  their  quiet  horses  treading  the 
lacework  of  sunshine  and  shadow  that  dappled 
the  road.  But  the  way  in  which  they  said  it, 
the  bending  forward  with  appealing  gesture  of 
one,  and  the  averted  head  of  the  other,  the 
movement  of  the  shoulders,  the  touch  of  hands, 
the  quiet  laughter,  the  steady  gaze  of  four  eyes 
firing  double-barrelled  volleys  at  each  other  I 

Love  -  making   on  horseback   is  much  more 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


dignified  and  reserved  than  the  same  youthful 
pursuit  in  a  carriage.  It  leaves  more  to  be 
hoped  for  and  less  to  be  regretted. 

It  is  not  all  walking  in  the  shade,  for  the 
fresh  horses  now  and  then  gallop  on  in  the  sun- 
light, and  the  mountains  are  rising  and  coming 
to  meet  them.  It  is  not  a  safe  country  for  an 
officer  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  to  be  riding 
in,  but  Lieutenant  Mink  and  Miss  Plumb  in  her 
gray  habit  have  forgotten  everything  but  each 
other.  Ten  miles  have  they  ridden  into  the 
jaws  of  danger,  serenely  oblivious  of  the  Colo- 
nel's parting  injunction. 

Lieutenant  Mink  alighted,  alarmed  at  length 
by  their  very  nearness  to  the  mountains,  and, 
looking  nervously  about  him,  tightened  the 
girths  of  the  saddles.  A  mile  back  they  had 
met  a  sober  -  looking  old  farmer  bestride  a 
steady -going  horse,  and  they  had  been  too  ab- 
sorbed to  notice  that  he  had  soon  thereafter 
quickened  his  pace,  looking  back  as  he  rode. 

Mink  kept  his  counsel  as  they  galloped  rap- 
idly on  the  return,  thinking  to  spare  his  com- 
panion unnecessary  anxiety,  but  pretty  Plumb 
knew  more  of  the  resorts  of  the  partisan  rangers 
than  he.  As  the  sun  sank  at  their  backs, 
throwing  longer  shadows  before,  that  prudent 
young  lady  thought  it  her  duty  to  speak. 

222 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


"I  have  heard,"  said  Mink,  laughing,  and 
carelessly  snipping  his  boot  with  his  whip,  "  that 
it  is  the  part  of  good  generalship  to  be  always 
prepared  for  surprise ;  to  have  one's  army  in 
hand,  you  know.  Now  I  am  the  general  to-day, 
and  you  are  the  army.  The  first  lesson  for  the 
army  to  learn  is  bhnd  obedience.  You  are  a 
soldier's  daughter,  my  dear  Miss  Plumb " 

' '  And  half  a  soldier  myself, ' '  said  she,  look- 
ing admiringly  at  her  broad-shouldered  escort. 
"  I  think  I  should  love  a  charge." 

''You  may  have  it,  my  dear,"  said  Mink. 
"  In  any  event  it  is  no  surrender."  And  then 
turning  a  grave,  penetrating  look  on  his  pretty 
companion  :  ''  You  are  sure  you  will  obey  the 
word  of  command,  whatever  it  is,  and  that  in- 
stantly ?  ' ' 

"Whatever  it  is,  and  instantly,"  said  she, 
looking  up  into  the  eyes  of  her  general. 

"  Even  if  I  ride  one  way  and  order  you  an- 
other ?  " 

"  Even  so,  I  will  obey." 

A  half  mile  in  front,  five  men,  well  mounted 
and  well  armed,  and  accompanied  by  the  old 
farmer  bestride  the  steady-going  horse,  himself 
now  carrying  a  gun,  are  riding  in  pursuit  of  the 
reckless  officer  and  the  lady.  The  shoe-prints 
are  clearly  impressed  in   the  sand,   for  the  old 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


farrier  had  guided  his  horse  to  one  side,  not  to 
disturb  the  trail. 

"  You  said  the  ofificer  and  the  lady  was  ridin' 
a  fine  pair  o'  horses,  Uncle  Billy,"  said  the 
leader  of  the  band. 

"  Jes  so,  Cap'  ;  an'  you'll  bar  me  out  when 
ye  see  them  bosses.  Nothin'  finer  haint  gone 
over  these  roads  lately. ' ' 

"  Mighty  sorry,  gentlemen,  to  make  the  gal 
walk  and  rob  her  of  her  cavalier  too.  But  I 
reckon  there  are  three  animals  in  that  outfit  we 
all  will  have  to  take  charge  of.  When  they  come 
in  sight,  you  Jack,  and  you  Tom,  just  ride  out 
on  the  flanks.      I  expect  they'll  give  up  easy." 

The  raiders  had  drawn  rein  at  the  foot  of  a 
hill,  and  at  this  stage  of  the  conversation  were 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  top,  well  bunched  in 
the  road,  and  proceeding  at  a  walk.  At  the 
same  moment  Lieutenant  Mink,  who  was  half 
a  length  ahead  of  Miss  Plumb,  intent  on  getting 
the  first  glance  over  the  hill,  handed  his  whip 
to  his  companion. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  for  that  charge,"  he  said, 
drawing  his  sabre  from  its  lashings  under  the 
skirts  of  his  saddle.  "Ride  close  to  my  side 
and  ride  hard." 

Then  shooting  on  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  with 
a  touch  of  his  heel  that  stung  the  nerves  of  the 

224 


The  Horses  that  Responded 

chestnut  and  tautened  the  reins  like  a  bow-strinp-, 
Mink  swung  the  glittering  blade  above  his  head 
and  shouted  with  all  his  lungs,  "  Here  they  are, 
boys  !     Charge  !  ' ' 

In  that  instant  the  bay  sprang  to  his  side, 
little  Plumb's  teeth  set  and  her  eyes  flashing 
with  excitement.  Down  the  hill  the  gallant 
animals  plunged  to  the  charge,  with  a  furious 
momentum  that  Mink  well  knew  would  be  ir- 
resistible at  so  short  a  dash.  The  bunch  of 
horsemen  parted  each  way,  j^erceiving  it  was  to 
be  a  chase  instead  of  a  halt.  But  Lieutenant 
Mink  was  not  content  even  with  this  advantage, 
and,  seeing  the  Captain  of  the  rangers  cocking 
his  rifle,  swerved  the  big  chestnut  to  the  left, 
and,  as  he  shot  by,  swung  his  long  arm  around 
the  Captain's  neck  and  dropped  him  over  his 
horse's  crupper  into  the  road,  as  if  the  man  had 
been  a  sack  of  grain. 

And  on  the  powerful,  mettlesome  horses 
plunged,  now  spurning  the  level  road  under 
their  ringing  hoofs,  their  riders  feeling  their 
superb  muscles  working  under  them  like  the 
throb  of  an  engine.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  is 
gained  at  the  start  and  not  a  word  has  been 
spoken,  although  Mink  has  turned  a  satisfied 
eye  on  plucky  little  Plumb  flying  at  his  side, 
with  her  white  teeth  set  hard  and  tears  of  ex- 

225 


The  Horses  that  Respojided 


citement  glistening  in  her  eyes.  Four  bullets 
have  indeed  whistled  high  over  their  charmed 
heads,  and  he  draws  a  breath  of  relief  for  the 
sake  of  his  companion  in  peril.  Then  Mink 
drops  his  sabre  into  its  scabbard,  and  leans  for- 
ward to  take  a  good  look  in  Miss  Plumb's  face ; 
their  hands  meet,  and  he  laughs  merrily  to  re- 
assure her,  and  she  laughs  a  little  hysterically 
in  return. 

"  My  darling,  you  are  a  worthy  daughter  of 
the  old  Colonel,  and  I  am  proud  of  you.  One 
— two — three — four — did  you  happen  to  hear 
the  Captain's  gim  ?  "  said  Mink.  "I  fancy  he's 
not  in  the  race.  Ease  'em  up,  my  dear,"  he 
continued  :  ' '  there  is  time  enough  to  run  when 
we  are  pressed." 

But  the  horses  refused  to  be  eased,  and  the 
chestnut  took  much  coaxing  before  he  could  be 
persuaded  to  slacken  his  pace. 

There  was  a  scattering  pursuit,  but  it  was 
hopeless  from  the  first,  for  the  nervous,  high- 
strung  hoi-ses  of  the  pursued  party  sprang  for- 
ward at  the  slightest  .slackening  of  the  rein,  run- 
ning with  a  joyous,  high-headed  abandon  that 
kept  them  easily  out  of  range. 

The  Colonel  and  his  party  were  still  on  the 
gallery  when  the  wanderers  rode  up  the  drive, 
their  mounts  as  wet  as  if  they  had  just  swum 
226 


The  Horses  that  Responded 


the  river,  and  altogether  in  finer  form  than 
when  they  walked  out  of  the  gate. 

Little  Plumb  was  as  cool  as  a  veteran,  not  a 
fold  of  her  habit  disarranged,  and  after  kissing 
her  father  she  gave  him  the  humorous  side  of 
the  charge  and  the  fate  of  the  burly  Captain. 

"  Shiver  my  trunnions  !  "  cried  the  Colonel, 
glaring  first  at  his  daughter  and  then  at  Lieuten- 
ant Mink,  leaning  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets against  a  Doric  pillar,  and  then  over  the 
rail  at  the  two  quiet  horses  walking  off  in  charge 
of  the  orderlies,  "  dash  my  buttons,  if  I  know 
which  of  the  four  I  admire  most !  ' ' 


^  -»^ 


"  Lights  Out  !    'Liz'beth 
Rachael " 


A     MONOLOGUE 


"  LIGHTS     OUT  !      'LIZ'BETH     RACH- 
AEL  " 

IT  was  all  on  account  o'  'Liz'beth  Rach- 
ael. 

I  don't  look  like  a  man  as  would  break  his 
heart  over  a  woman,  do  I?  I  ax  you,  com- 
rades, an'  I  ax  you  square,  ef  I  look  like  I 
had  too  much  sentiment  into  my  make-up? 
I'm  sort  o'  plain,  humspun  ole  Chris'  Bradley, 
I  be  ;  an'  that's  what  everybody  knows  me 
fur  aroun'  here.  Post  nights  and  camp  -  fires 
an'  meetin'  a  Sunday  is  all  the  dissipation  I 
takes  to — 'cept  when  the  chores  is  done  on 
the  farm  a-nights  I  puts  on  my  G.A.R.  hat, 
an'  mebby  my  vest,  an'  goes  up  to  the  village 
to  see  the  boys. 

You  didn't  jest  know  'Liz'beth  Rachael, 
you  two,  an'  you  come  a  long  ways  to  'tend 
the  buryin',  an'  I'm  partic'lar  obleeged  to  the 
heft  o'  Snyder  Post  as  come  along  with  ye.  I 
kallate  we  sha'n't  never  see  the  boys  fire  a 
volley  over  a  woman's  grave  agin. 

Poor    'Liz'beth    Rachael !      She'd    a'    been 

231 


"Lights  Out!  'Lii'beth  Rachael" 

proud  to  heard  the  guns.  An'  jest  afore  we 
left  the  buryin' -ground,  when  it  was  growin' 
sort  o'  meller  an'  dusky,  an'  drefful  still  after 
the  volley,  an'  the  powder-smoke  was  hangin' 
to  the  bushes,  an'  all  the  boys  was  lookin'  inter 
their  hats,  to  see  old  Bugler  Frisbee  step  out 
on  the  hillside,  so  straight  an'  dark  agin  the 
yeller  sky,  an'  blow  them  powerful  tender 
notes  that  goes  rite  through  a  soldier's  heart — 
"  Lights  out  !  'Liz'beth  Rachael — Lights  out  ! 
'Liz'beth  Rachael — L-i-g-h-t-s  o-u-t  !  " 

I  ain't  much  onto  poetry,  comrades,  but 
that  air  business  tuk  a  powerful  hold  on  my 
feelin's.  Seein'  all  them  gray  heads  bowed 
under  the  old  flag-staff,  an'  it  hevin'  scarcely 
enough  rags  left  onto  it  to  flutter  in  the  wind, 
an'  the  smell  o'  the  powder  agin,  jest  took  me 
plum  back  to  the  day  when  Dick  Welton  fell 
dead  under  that  same  flag-staff,  an'  Jones  an' 
Color-Sergeant  Brown  afore  him,  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  tell  ye.  Dick  was  'Liz'beth 
Rachael' s  man,  ye  understand. 

Like  to  hear  the  story,  would  ye  ?  Well, 
comrades,  I  'low  I  feel  more  like  marchin' 
over  the  old  ground  again  to-night  than  ever  I 
did  afore.  Things  is  freshened  up  in  my  mind, 
like.  I'm  a  boy  agin,  doin'  odd  chores  round 
the  village,  carryin'  bundles  in  the  harvest  field 


"Lights  Out!  'Lii'betb  Rachael" 


an'  pickin'  thistles  out  o'  my  toes  an'  nussin' 
stone- bruises  on  my  heels,  an'  gettin'  a  little 
schoolin'  in  the  winter,  an'  fightin'  the  other 
boys  on  account  o'  'Liz'beth  Rachael. 

I  was  alus  at  the  foot  o'  the  class  an'  'Liz'- 
beth Rachael  alus  up  to  the  head,  fur  she  was 
quick  to  learn,  an'  that's  the  reason  I  hated 
the  school — fur  keepin'  us  so  fur  apart.  Out- 
side we  jest  growed  up  together,  an'  nobody 
interfered,  an'  everybody  tuk  it  all  fur  granted, 
same  as  I  did,  an'  same  for  'Liz'beth  Rachael. 

There  was  jest  one  thing  come  betwixt  us 
two  to  spile  the  dress-parade,  an'  I  don't  'low 
to  favor  myself,  comrades — not  parti c'lar  on 
the  night  o'  'Liz'beth  Rachael's  buryin'. 
When  things  worried  me,  an'  likewise  when  I 
had  too  much  luck,  I  liquored  accordin',  an' 
that  set  all  the  women  advisin'  'Liz'beth  Rach- 
ael, an'  'Liz'beth  Rachael  advisin'  me.  She 
was  mighty  sweet  an'  pooty  them  days  —  tall 
an'  trim  as  a  sergeant  -  major,  an'  sassy  as  a 
lieutenant  home  on  leave,  an'  when  she  told 
me  off  fur  punishment  duty  I  tuk  the  discipline 
some  quieter  than  ever  I  did  in  the  field. 

But  'twa'n't  no  use.  Much  as  I  wanted  to 
do  right  an',  please  'Liz'beth  Rachael — an'  I 
loved  her  more'n  all  the  world  beside — some- 
thin'   would   turn   up   to  put   me  back  in   the 

233 


"Lights  Out!  'Li{betb  Rachael' 

police  squad,  an'  then,  bless  her,  she'd  take 
me  out  o'  the  guard-house  an'  we'd  be  some- 
thin'  more'n  comrades  agin,  goin'  to  meetin' 
together — 'Liz'beth  Rachael  sung  in  the  choir 
— an'  plannin'  to  take  the  old  folks'  farm  on 
shares,  an'  reformin',  an'  all  that. 

I  'lowed  to  do  right,  comrades,  but  makin' 
promises  to  'Liz'beth  Rachael  was  like  startin' 
on  a  charge,  double-quickin',  an'  cheerin'  an' 
howlin'  to  keep  your  courage  up  until,  suddin- 
like,  soraethin'  happens  to  change  yer  mind. 
You  meet  up  with  somethin'  you  didn't  ex- 
pect. I  didn't  have  the  pluck  to  hug  the 
ground  an'  scrape  up  a  bit  o'  cover — alus  found 
myself  in  full  retreat  afore  I  knowed  it. 

Along  then  the  old  folks  turned  agin  me, 
an'  Dick  Welton  took  to  drivin'  over  from  the 
Cross  Roads,  an  'Liz'beth  Rachael  sort  o' 
favored  him — some  folks  said  to  make  me 
jealous,  but  I  couldn't  believe  that  o'  'Liz'beth 
Rachael  —  an'  I  lost  heart  an'  jest  clean  de- 
serted to  the  enemy. 

That  spring  the  war  broke  out,  an'  Dick 
jumped  in  and  raised  the  first  company  in  the 
county,  an'  everybody  swore  by  Dick,  an' 
'Liz'beth  Rachael  couldn't  a'  helped  lovin' 
him  ef  she'd  tried.  Pretty  much  all  the  gals  in 
the  village  did  the  same,  an'  I  didn't  blame  'em. 

234 


Lights  Out!  'Li^'beth  Kachael" 


'Liz'beth  Rachael  cried  an'  tuk  on  an'  said 
she'd  alus  be  my  friend,  an'  made  me  promise 
to  reform  for  her  sake. 

Jest  before  the  company  started  they  was 
fast  married  in  the  church,  an'  I  went  up  with 
the  rest  an'  saw  it  all  through,  jest  as  if  I  didn't 
care.  I  tell  you  it  didn't  take  me  long  to  find 
out  that  Pumford  wa'n't  no  place  for  me  to 
stop  in,  an'  I  turned  out  an'  'listed  in  Dick's 
company  afore  it  left  the  State. 

Somehow  I  couldn't  never  keep  it  in  my 
mind  that  Dick  was  my  rival  an'  actually  the 
husband  of  'Liz'beth  Rachael — he  was  so  brave 
an'  keerful  o'  the  boj-'s,  he  seemed  more  like  a 
big  brother.     He  was  some  older' n  me. 

You  was  both  of  ye  at  Antietam  ! 

Well,  now,  shake. 

What — up  on  the  right,  too?  Hooray! 
Shake  again.  You'll  understand  it  all.  That's 
where  we  left  poor  Dick  in  the  smoke  that 
September  Sunday. 

You  remember  how  we  got  onto  the  skirmish 
line  in  the  dusk,  an'  how  the  line  run  across 
the  field  in  the  open  an'  then  into  the  woods 
on  the  flank,  an'  the  brush  we  had  with  the 
Johnnies  afore  we  settled  down  an'  got  quiet  in 
the  dark  ? 

Shake ! 

235 


"Lights  Out!  'Li{'betb  Rachael" 


An'  how  the  last  scatterin'  shots  went  bang- 
bang  in  the  pastur',  an'  boom  -  boom  in  the 
woods,  an'  sparkled  like  fire-flies  in  the  grass  ? 

Shake  ! 

An'  then  how  mortal  still  it  got,  an'  cold, 
an'  the  shuckin'  o'  the  gun-wheels  up  on  the 
ridge  behind  whar  the  batteries  was  unlimber- 
in'  an'  gettin'  quiet  into  place  ;  an'  the  chop- 
pin'  an'  poundin'  of  the  Johnnies  buildin'  up 
the  granite  ledges  into  breastworks,  an'  the 
sound  of  ammunition-wagons  all  night  on  the 
road  by  the  Dunker  Church. 

Shake  !  shake  !     We  was  there  ! 

Dear  me !  I  can  smell  the  pastur',  wet  with 
the  dew,  an'  see  the  stars  shinin'  above  the 
woods  to  the  right — so  cold  and  far  off,  as  if 
'twa'n't  none  o'  their  fight. 

Creepy,  now  wa'n't  it,  boys,  layin'  thar  lis- 
tenin'  to  the  preparations  —  wonderin'  whar 
ye'd  be  same  time  next  night — battery  fellers 
stumblin'  on  ye  in  the  dark  huntin'  for  water 
to  fill  the  sponge-buckets,  an'  we  a-knowin' 
the  ball  would  open  the  minute  it  got  light 
enough  to  see  the  gray  devils  layin'  out  in  front  ? 

But  I'm  forgettin'  all  about  Captain  Dick. 

It  was  helter-skelter  afore  noon  over  in  front 
of  that  little  chapel.  We  got  orders  to  charge 
on  a  brigade  formin'  to  strike  our  flank,_  an' 
236 


"Lights  Out!  'Li:(betb  Rachael" 

we  charged  pell-mell  down  the  slope,  die  big 
guns  up  above  roar  in'  over  our  heads  and 
plungin'  shell  into  the  woods  an'  the  church. 
The  brigade  we  started  for  slumped  off  to  the 
right  an'  lapped  in  behind  us  an'  got  scooped 
up  by  the  troops  follerin',  an'  all  the  time  we 
was  pushin'  back  the  Johnnies  in  front,  rallyin' 
up  with  the  colors  —  blazin'  right  an'  left  — 
smoke  too  thick  to  breathe  easy — shells  bustin' 
everywhere — flag  down — flag  up — boys  didn't 
know  when  they  was  hit  —  captains  gettin' 
scarce  —  Color  -  Sergeant  Brown  lyin'  dead 
across  that  same  old  stick  you  seen  to  -  day 
with  the  rags  onto  it. 

Cap'n  Dick  rolled  him  off  an'  raised  the 
colors  once  more,  an'  we  all  yelled  an'  cheered, 
an'  some  jest  cried  with  excitement  but  banged 
away  all  the  same,  an'  more  loaded  and  fired 
still  as  mice ;  an'  sudden  like  all  the  rebs 
melted  away  in  front  of  us  into  the  ground,  an' 
we  set  up  a  cheer  an'  went  ahead  after  Captain 
Dick,  the  staff"  in  one  hand  an'  holdin'  up  the 
colors  on  the  pint  of  his  sword  with  the  other, 
an',  my  God  !  the  ground  afore  us  jest  blazed 
with  a  sheet  o'  fire  from  behind  a  step-off  o' 
granite  rock  as  nobody  could  see,  an'  Captain 
Dick  went  down  an'  half  the  boys  along  with 
him.     Poor  old  Dick  knowed  he  was  done  for, 

237 


"Lights  Out!  'Lii'beth  Kachael" 

an'  he  thro  wed  the  flag  back  with  all  his 
strength,  an'  we  carried  it  away  over  the  boys 
lyin'  wounded  an'  dead  on  the  pastur', — an'  I 
thought  o'  'Liz'beth  Rachael  waitin'  home  an' 
her  Dick  trampled  among  the  nameless  dead. 
An'  that's  how  we  cum  to  call  the  post  after 
Dick— "  Richard  Welton  Post,  G.A.R.,  No. 
140." 

When  we  got  a  stray  letter  from  home  there 
was  always  some  bad  news  about  'Liz'beth 
Rachael.  There  was  plenty  of  home  folks  here 
in  Pumford  lost  kin  that  day — half  the  women 
was  dressed  in  black — but  none  of  'em  took  it 
so  hard  as  'Liz'beth  Rachael.  First  she  was 
reg'lar  sick  with  grief  an'  worrit,  an'  then  the 
baby  died,  an'  she  was  clean  gone  out  of  her 
head.  For  weeks  and  months  she  lay  sick  with 
fever,  an'  the  neighbors  never  expected  her  to 
get  well.  An'  when  she  did  cum  round  she 
couldn't  seem  to  remember  anything  'cept 
Dick  an'  the  war  an'  the  baby  that  was  dead. 

It's  thirty  years  now  since  we  all  come  home 
— seems  like  yisterday — ragged  an'  dirty  uni- 
forms— only  twenty  in  the  company — old  flag 
some  torn  an'  shot  up,  but  ye  could  read  the 
names  o'  battles  in  gold  letters  on  every  stripe, 
white  an'  red — jest  thirteen  of  'em.  We 
marched  over  from  the  railroad  in  the  dust  an' 
238 


"Lights  Out!  'Li:(beth  Rachael" 


sun — ten  miles — route  step,  heads  up.  Wom- 
en to  the  gates  with  lemonade  an'  cake — har- 
vest hands  on  the  fences,  villages  turnin'  out. 
Men  an'  boys  follerin'  a  -  foot,  a  -  horseback, 
an'  in  wagins. 

All  Pumford  was  on  the  Mill  hill  to  meet  us, 
an'  they  fell  on  us  ten  to  one. 

You  bet,  comrades,  I  was  lookin'  for  'Liz- 
'beth  Rachael's  'mongst  the  faces,  an'  thar  it 
Avas,  the  eagerest,  wildest -eyed  ye  ever  seen, 
chargin'  clean  through  the  ranks  afore  all  the 
rest,  an'  when  she  didn't  find  Dick  she  begun 
to  call  him  out  loud  an'  run  among  us  an'  stare 
at  each  of  us  with  her  wild,  dry  eyes.  She 
didn't  even  know  me  —  'Liz'beth  Rachael 
didn't.  So  we  jest  told  her  that  Dick  hadn't 
got  along  yet,  an'  then  Fred  Gibbs  an'  me  led 
her  away  to  some  o'  the  women  in  black 
clothes  that  was  cryin'  together  behind  the 
rest,  an'  Mis'  Wiggins,  whose  two  boys  was 
both  killed,  put  her  arms  around  'Liz'beth 
Rachael  an'  comforted  her  the  best  she  could. 

It  was  dreadful  hard  lines,  holdin'  onto  that 
little  hand  an'  supportin'  'Liz'beth  Rachael 
along,  an'  she  not  knowin'  me,  as  growed  up 
along  with  her  an'  loved  her  so  long.  Some- 
how the  women  was  all  a  blur  when  we  give 
her  up  to  'em,  an'  I  pinted  back  to  the  boys. 

239 


"Lights  Out!  'Lii'beth  Rachael 


Well,  'Liz'beth  Rachael  was  jest  the  same 
from  that  day  on — always  expectin'  Dick,  an' 
always  askin'  fur  him  ef  she  met  up  with  a  sol- 
dier. She  knowed  all  of  us  fur  friends  o' 
Dick's  when  we  had  our  rigimentals  on,  but 
she  never  seemed  to  know  one  of  us  from 
t'other.  It  was  heart-breakin'  to  hear  her  ask 
the  same  old  question,  "  Whar's  my  Dick?  " 
an'  bimeby  we  got  to  answer  her,  "  Oh,  he's 
all  right,"  an'  that  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  an' 
everybody  in  the  village  come  to  answer  her  in 
the  same  way,  down  to  the  little  kids  jest  larn- 
in'  to  talk. 

When  we  organized  the  post  we  called  it  the 
"  Richard  Welton  Post,G.A.R.,  No.  140." 
'Liz'beth  Rachael  seemed  to  think  she  had 
some  interest  into  it.  Every  other  Friday 
night  she  stood  outside  the  door  an'  asked  the 
guard  whar  her  Dick  was,  an'  some  o'  the  com- 
rades brought  their  wives  along  reg'lar,  jest  to 
talk  to  'Liz'beth  Rachael  and  take  her  home. 
But  'twa'n't  no  use  tryin'  to  keep  her  out  of 
Richard  Wei  ton  Post  when  she  'lowed  she  be- 
longed there,  an'  we  talked  the  matter  over, 
an'  all  the  comrades  agreed  that  'Liz'beth 
Rachael  couldn't  do  no  harm  if  she  was  let  to 
set  inside. 

Now,  that's  the   way  her  relations   witli   flic 

240 


'•Lights  Out!  -Lii'beth  Rachael" 

post  begun.  After  a  while  we  made  her  a  seat 
beside  the  chaplain,  an'  'Liz'beth  Rachael  was 
always  in  it,  and  never  knowed  the  pass-word 
nor  yit  the  grip.  We  told  her  the  word  was 
"Dick,"  an'  she  comes  up  to  the  guard  an' 
whispers  "  IMy  Dick,"  an'  he  lets  her  by,  an' 
she  marches  up  an'  salutes  the  commander  jest 
like  the  rest,  an'  turns  off  to  her  reg'Iar  place. 
Little  changes  for  her  sake  crep'  in,  one  after 
another,  an'  ever  since  Major  Wise's  time,  years 
ago,  after  the  opening  prayer  the  commander 
would  stand  up  and  strike  his  gavel  an'  look 
at  'Liz'beth  Rachael,  an'  she  would  stand  up 
an'  say,  "Where's  my  Dick?"  an'  all  the 
post  would  rise  an'  say,  "Oh,  he's  all  right," 
an'  then  go  on  with  business  jest  as  if  she 
wa'n't  there;  an'  'Liz'beth  Rachael  looked  so 
contented  an'  happy,  an'  set  so  still,  that  we 
all  felt  glad  to  do  so  much  for  Dick's  widow. 
And  every  post  night,  when  the  exercises  was 
over,  'Liz'beth  Rachael  saluted  and  walked 
straight  home,  never  lookin'  to  the  right  nor 
left,  an'  the  armed  guard  was  marchin'  twenty 
paces  behind  her. 

But   I   tell  you,  comrades,   Decoration   Day 
was  the  beginnin'  an'  end  of  the  year  for  'Liz'- 
beth Rachael.     She  had  some  sort  of  an  idea 
that  Dick  had  somethin'  to  do  with  the  flag, 
241 


"Lights  Out!  'Lii'beth  Rachael" 

an'  nothin'  would  do  but  she  must  carry  the 
old  colors,  an'  carry  them  she  did,  as  long  as 
she  lived,  her  thin  gray  hair  uncovered  to  the 
sun  an'  the  wind.  Some  of  the  women  talked 
to  her  about  Dick  an'  the  baby  until  she  kind 
o'  got  the  two  confounded,  an'  so,  when  we 
heaped  the  flowers  on  the  little  grave  an'  told 
her  they  was  for  Dick,  she  was  so  happy  ar- 
rangin'  the  little  flags  an'  wreaths  on  the  green 
mound  an'  over  the  white  headstone  that  she 
clean  forgot  to  ask  the  old  question. 

Then,  'Liz'beth  Rachael  growed  the  heft  of 
the  flowers  herself.  That  was  her  little  cottage 
what  we  took  her  out  from,  with  the  rose- 
bushes trailin'  over  the  shed  an'  the  pinks  an' 
pinys  growin'  in  the  garden  an'  the  phlox  an' 
'zalias  hidin'  the  fences.  What  with  the 
locust  -  trees  in  bloom,  an'  the  clover  patch 
blowed  out,  it  was  sweet  enough  around  whar 
'Liz'beth  Rachael  lived  to  make  a  bumble-bee 
stagger. 

Did  ye  take  notice  of  the  sign  over  the  porch 
— it  was  half  hid  with  climbin'  roses  to-day — 
"  Richard  Welton  Post,  G.A.R.,  No.  140," 
in  red  letters  on  a  white  board  with  a  blue  bor- 
der ?  Well,  we  had  that  lettered  an'  put  up 
for  her,  an'  she  was  as  proud  of  it  as  a  paintin'. 

'Arly  in  the  spring  we  ploughed  the  garden 

242 


"Lights  Out!  'Lii'hetb  Rachael" 

an'  dug  the  beds  for  her,  an'  sowed  the  seeds 
an'  did  the  pottin'-out — fur  all  winter  'Liz'- 
beth  Rachael  had  the  windows  an'  the  glass 
shed  full  o'  roses  an'  geraniums  an'  sich,  an' 
she  never  forgot  to  water  an'  tend  um,  nuther. 
In  the  summer  she  might  sell  a  nosegay  to  the 
city  folks,  but  afore  the  thirtieth  day  o'  May 
nobody  couldn't  buy  a  sprig. 

One  day  Miss  King — her  folks  come  up  from 
Cincinnaty  in  the  summer  time  —  druv  with 
some  strangers  to  see  'Liz'beth  Rachael,  an' 
when  they  kem  down  to  the  gate,  the'r  arms 
full  o'  roses,  'Liz'beth  Rachael  seen  the  flunky, 
all  buttons,  standin'  by  the  kerridge  door,  an' 
she  ups  an'  asks  him,  '■  Whar's  my  Dick  ?  " 
an'  the  feller  stared  like  he  was  shot,  an'  Miss 
King  took  her  hand  in  hern,  with  the  tears  in 
her  eyes,  an'  says,  so  sweet,  "  Oh,  he's  all 
right." 

Now,  wa'n't  that  clever?  Everybody  was 
that  a-way  to  'Liz'beth  Rachael. 

A  little  afore  she  died  her  memory  come 
back  to  her  like  second  sight.  The  women  an' 
the  preacher  told  her  about  everything,  an'  she 
thanked  everybody  for  all  what  they  had  done 
for  her.  She  sent  for  me  an'  made  me  tell  her 
ever)rthing  I  could  remember  about  Dick,  an' 
how  he  bore  up  the  flag,  an'  all  that  happened 

243 


"Lights  Out!  'Li^'beth  Racbael" 


that  day.  An'  I  had  to  tell  it  to  her  over  an' 
over  again,  an'  mebby  if  I  disremembered  some 
little  thing  she'd  pull  me  up  an'  say,  "  Chris, 
you  forgot  about  the  shells  burstin'  overhead," 
or  "You  didn't  tell  me  about  the  gun- wheels 
soundin'  in  the  night,  just  as  Dick  an'  you 
heard  'em,"  an'  then  I  had  to  go  over  it  all 
again. 

An'  she  talked  to  me  about  the  old  days  be- 
fore the  war,  an'  remembered  everything  jest 
as  I  remembered  it.  But  never  mind,  com- 
rades, about  that  part,  'Liz'beth  Rachael  is 
gone,  an'  there'll  be  another  vacant  chair  in 
Richard  Welton  Post,  G.A.R.,  No.  140,  an' 
when  some  old  fire  dog  turns  up  in  Pumford 
with  a  cord  on  his  hat  or  brass  buttons  on  his 
vest,  as  they  mostly  does,  thar  won't  be  no 
'Liz'beth  Rachael  to  ax  him,  "  Whar's  my 
Dick?" 


244 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


THE    WIDOW    OF    THE    GENERAL 

IN  the  quiet  burial-ground  of  a  little  village 
by  the  sea,  somewhere  within  the  bounda- 
ries of  the  northern  half  of  the  restored  Union, 
lie  at  rest  two  officers  of  the  old  army  whom  a 
difference  of  opinion  —  the  one  a  native  of 
Maine,  and  the  other  of  Louisiana — for  a  time 
made  enemies,  but  who  now,  reunited,  are  sleep- 
ing shoulder  to  shoulder  in  the  last  long  sleep. 

Once  a  year  the  two  mounds  are  strewn,  the 
one  with  roses,  and  the  other  with  flowers  of 
the  magnolia  and  orange,  and,  strange  to  re- 
late, the  Southern  blossoms  are  laid  on  the  grave 
of  the  Northern  soldier,  while  the  flowers  of  the 
North  are  always  heaped  on  the  other  mound. 

A  plain  marble  shaft  rises  above  the  head  of 
the  Northern  soldier,  white  among  the  brown 
head  -  stones  of  six  generations  of  sailors  and 
fishermen. 

On  the  principal  face  of  the  monument  is' 
the  following  inscription  : 

BRIG  :  GENERAL , 

i8— .         i8— . 
Duke  et  decorum  est  pro  patria  mori, 

247 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


And  on  the  right-hand  face,  in  incised  let- 
ters of  a  much  more  recent  date  : 

COLONEL , 

Friend  and  Classmate. 
Comrade. 

In  the  same  village  by  the  sea  lives  a  beauti- 
ful lady,  the  widow  of  the  General.  Although 
her  hair  has  grown  silvery  gray  with  advancing 
years,  time  has  dealt  over  gently  with  the  pale 
thoughtful  face  and  with  the  erect  slender  fig- 
ure. All  the  year  she  wears  the  weeds  and 
bands  of  widowhood,  except  on  one  particular 
day,  and  that  the  30th  of  May,  when  it  pleases 
this  lady  to  go  abroad  radiant  in  a  dainty  cos- 
tume of  harmonious  colors,  which  comes  fresh 
from  the  modiste's  on  the  evening  before,  and 
which  is  sent  away  on  the  day  after  to  be  sold 
in  the  city  for  the  benefit  of  some  charity.  It 
is  because,  she  says,  weeds  and  flowers  have  no 
place  together  that  she  decks  herself  like  a  bride 
on  this  festival  of  the  flowers,  and  goes  forth  to 
rejoice,  leaving  the  shadow  of  her  mourning 
behind. 

In  all  her  native  village   no  young  girl  is 

more  cheerful  and  contented  with  her  lot  than 

this  lady  in  sombre  black  and  spotless  white, 

whose  mind  and   fingers  are  busy  all  the   days 

248 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


with  projects  of  charity  and  dainty  creations  in 
needlework. 

On  winter  nights,  when  storms  are  abroad, 
and  the  seas  beat  on  the  sands  with  a  boom 
and  roar  like  distant  artillery,  the  General's 
widow  sits  closer  to  the  fire,  thankful  that  there 
is  no  war  in  the  land,  and  if  her  thoughts 
wander  away  to  the  clash  and  tumult  of  other 
fields  long  since  quiet,  is  it  any  wonder  ? 

On  a  certain  evening,  when  this  lady's  win- 
dows are  open  to  the  soft  breath  of  spring,  and 
when  her  eleventh  dainty  costume  (she  trusts  it 
is  dainty,  although  she  has  no  heart  to  look  at 
it)  lies  unopened  in  its  box  on  the  table,  her 
thoughts  have  wandered  still  further  away,  to 
one  of  the  frontier  posts  of  the  old  army — a  lieu- 
tenant's wife  absorbed  in  all  that  took  place  be- 
tween the  rising  of  the  sun  and  the  going  down 
of  the  garrison  flag.  She  thought  of  many 
things,  but  most  of  a  certain  hare-brained  lieu- 
tenant, who  was  forever  getting  her  Jack  into 
hot  water  on  the  strength  of  their  having  been 
classmates  and  roommates  at  the  Academy ; 
and  how  he  got  himself  in  hot  water  through 
his  violent  love  for  a  girl  from  New  York  who 
descended  on  the  garrison  in  the  regular  way, 
and  how  she  coolly  left  him  in  ice-water  when 
it  came  to  a  serious  consideration  of  the  dififer- 


249 


The  Widow  of  the  Geiiernl 


ence  between  a  silver  leaf  and  a  single  bar. 
She  remembered  that  she  herself  had  banished 
him  to  bachelor  quarters  when  she  appeared  at 
the  post,  where  she  found  the  two  lieutenants 
living  together,  and  quarrelling  like  monkeys 
and  parrots  to  make  up  for  the  prolonged  in- 
activity of  their  regiment. 

Once,  during  a  little  discussion  as  to  rank, 
Bob  had  sneered  at  Jack's  three  days'  seniority, 
and  sworn  hotly  that  he  should  be  sorry  to  be 
buried  on  the  same  field,  except  for  the  chance 
— with  his  best  bow — of  Emily  turning  up  with 
more  tears  than  .she  cared  to  waste  on  him. 

And  once,  just  before  his  resignation  from 
the  old  regiment  to  take  up  arms  against  us  all, 
Bob  had  said:  "Take  notice.  Jack,  I  have 
always  wanted  to  quarrel  with  you,  and  never 
had  much  success.  Looks  like  my  wildest 
hopes  would  be  more  than  gratified — ha,  old 
man  ?  ' '  And  so  they  had  hectored  and  nagged 
and  loved  each  other. 

Bob  had  been  living  abroad  since  the  close 
of  the  war,  broken  in  health  and  temper,  but 
now  and  then  he  wrote  the  most  pathetic  and 
amusing  letters  to  the  widow  of  his  old  friend. 

The  widow  of  the  General  came  back  with 
a  start  from  the  frontier  post,  listened  for  a 
moment  to  the  murmur  of  the  surf,  like  vi'ry 

250 


The  IVidow  of  the  General 


distant  artillery,  and  took  from   the  table  the 
last  letter  of  this  much-disappointed  old  soldier  : 

"  My  Dear  Madam  and  Friend, — It  is  no 
matter  where  I  am,  but  wheresoever  that  may- 
be, I  take  the  liberty  to  pray  for  your  happiness 
as  often  as  I  venture  to  ask  any  official  favors 
for  myself  This  morning — fact — I  ran  against 
Blowser,  of  the  old  regiment,  steering  a  red 
mountain  of  flesh  and  a  drove  of  little  hil- 
locks into  a  railway  compartment  too  con- 
tracted for  the  old  girl  herself  The  little  fool 
pretended  he  didn't  know  me,  and  I  shook 
him  by  the  collar  until  he  was  as  red  as  a  lob- 
ster; and  then,  says  I,  'Blowser,  I'll  forgive 
you  for  the  sake  of  your  family,'  and  shoved 
him  into  the  sardine-box.  He  enchanted  me 
with  American  manners  to  that  extent  that  I 
resolved  to  come  home  at  once,  and  I  have 
already  taken  passage  in  a  sailing  vessel,  where 
I  shall  not  be  badgered  ten  times  a  day  to  bet 
my  last  stiver  on  the  run  of  the  ship.  If  you 
are  all  as  polite  as  Blowser,  I  shall  pack  up 
my  wooden  leg  and  come  back  on  the  fastest 
steamer  afloat. 

"  Otherwise  I  shall  kiss  the  hand  of  my  old 
friend  in  the  early  summer,  and  billet  myself 
in  quarters  near  by,  where  I  can  hobble  over 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


and  hear  all  there  is  to  be  told  about  the  man 
whom  it  has  been  my  lot  to  love  above  all 
others. 

"Life  has  turned  out  for  me  very  different 
from  what  I  pictured  it  as  a  saphead  subaltern  ; 
but  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  have  noth- 
ing to  regret  except  the  misfortune  of  my  birth 
on  the  wrong  side  of  a  family  quarrel.  Given 
the  same  problem  again,  I  should  solve  it  by 
the  same  suicidal  folly.  I  am  not  a  man  with- 
out a  country,  for  I  can  walk  heartily  under  the 
old  flag — and  more — all  I  have  to  complain  of 
is  that  I  can't  serve  under  it.  During  my  best 
years  I  have  been  a  man  disbarred  from  the 
ranks  of  the  profession  he  loved,  and  all  for  an 
accident  of  birth.  I  had  no  heart  to  enter  a 
foreign  army  and  cut  throats  for  a  beggarly 
salary. 

"  As  for  my  old  friend  Jack,  he  might — he 
should — have  lived  on,  an  ornament  to  his  pro- 
fession and  a  comfort  to  his  incomparable  wife. 
I,  on  the  contrary,  should  have  died  in  the 
front  of  the  battle,  riddled,  pulverized,  as  the 
only  rational  way  out  of  the  difficulty." 

Here  the  General's  widow  shed  a  few  tears, 

and  folded  the  letter  without  re-reading  further. 

The  village  had  been  astir  since  early  morn- 

252 


The  IViJow  of  the  General 


ing  with  the  tramp  of  men  and  the  sound  of 
drums  and  the  laughter  of  children.  The  vet- 
erans, in  their  post  uniforms,  had  marched  and 
countermarched  on  the  broad  grassy  street, 
carrying  aloft  their  ragged  flags,  and  all  the 
people  cheering.  At  sunrise  the  old  church- 
yard had  been  heaped  and  strewn  with  fresh 
flowers,  and  little  printed  cotton  flags  had  been 
thrust  into  each  mound  marking  a  soldier's 
grave. 

The  General's  widow,  together  with  other 
women  similarly  bereaved,  but  gayer  and  more 
joyous  in  her  spring  attire  than  any  of  the 
others,  whether  maids  or  mothers,  has  helped 
the  old  soldiers  in  their  beautiful  work,  strip- 
ping her  garden  and  grounds  of  flowers,  until 
to-morrow  they  will  be  as  sombre  and  devoid 
of  color  as  herself.  But,  like  /a  cigale,  she 
thinks  only  of  to-day,  glad  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine and  the  cool  east  wind  from  the  sea,  and 
gloAving  with  gratitude  to  the  soldiers  and  the 
children  who  have  jostled  each  other  to  lay 
their  tributes  on  the  mound  that  covers  her 
General. 

How  joyous  the  world  is,  and  how  sweet  and 
fitting  to  live  in  it,  hallowed  by  the  memory  of 
her  dead  ! 

For   four    days    the   prevailing   winds   have 

253 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


been  from  the  east,  cooling  and  refreshing  to 
the  villagers  and  the  workmen  in  the  fields, 
and  inclining  to  drowsiness  the  dwellers  in  the 
newly  opened  cottages.  Day  by  day  waves 
have  lapped  gently  on  the  beach,  so  that  the 
weakest  bathers  have  scorned  the  ropes,  and 
the  surfman  has  tied  up  to  the  buoy  and  gone 
to  sleep  in  his  rocking  boat.  But  all  the  time 
the  spreading  waves  from  a  great  storm  at  sea, 
hundreds  of  miles  away,  pushed  along  by  the 
unvarying  winds,  have  been  moving  on  the 
unsuspecting  coast,  bringing  nearer  and  nearer 
that  wonderful  phenomenon  of  a  raging  sea 
under  a  smiling  summer  sky. 

Absorbed  in  the  exercises  of  the  morning, 
the  people  have  paid  little  heed  to  the  roaring 
of  the  surf,  which  has  been  rising  steadily  dur- 
ing the  night.  And  now  as  they  are  dispersing 
to  their  homes,  news  comes  of  the  boisterous 
behavior  of  the  sea,  and  the  curious  begin  to 
move  leisurely  in  the  direction  of  the  beach. 
Arrived  beyond  the  orchards,  where  one  gets 
the  first  glimiDse  of  the  ocean,  there  comes  sud- 
denly into  view  a  great  flashing  wall  of  foam, 
tumbling  over  and  over  on  the  reaches  of  beach 
visible  between  the  sand  hills,  and  throwing 
masses  of  spray  above  the  tops  of  the  highest 
dunes,  whereon  the  people  are  already  gathering 

254 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


in  interested  groups.  Then  the  men  and  boys 
begin  to  run  as  if  there  were  danger  of  the 
monster  ceasing  to  rage,  and  all  the  fields  are 
sprinkled  with  the  people  coming,  and  the  hills 
are  black  with  the  people  come,  standing  awe- 
struck among  the  tall  grasses  and  the  ragged 
plum-bushes. 

On  come  the  green  ridges  of  water,  one 
above  another,  each  a  huge  curving  wall  break- 
ing with  a  deafening  boom  into  a  boiling,  de- 
vouring mass  of  foam,  coming  on  over  the 
highest  line  of  the  beach,  licking  up  tons  of 
sand  as  it  comes,  and  depositing  it  again  as  it 
surges  into  tameness  against  the  foot  of  the  an- 
cient dunes,  and  turns  down  within  the  beach 
a  green  foam -flecked  current  floating  every- 
thing movable  within  its  reach. 

How  the  bath-men  are  hurrying  to  and  fro 
roping  the  smaller  houses  to  the  larger  ones, 
and  how  the  captives  at  the  ends  of  their 
tethers  bob  in  the  current  like  apples  in  a  bowl 
of  water !  The  boats  are  already  haled  into 
safety  behind  the  hills. 

Deeper  and  heavier  grows  the  volume  of 
water  moving  like  a  broad  river  between  the 
crest  of  the  beach  and  the  foot  of  the  sand 
hills,  bearing  brush  and  drift-wood  and  camp- 
chairs  and   occasionally  a    bath  -  house  on   its 

255 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


seething  current,  until,  at  the  weakest  point,  the 
beach  yields,  and  the  flood  pours  back  into  the 
sea  through  a  gorge  cut  in  a  moment,  carrying 
out  logs,  houses,  and  chairs,  to  reappear  like 
straws  in  the  tumbling  foam  —  to  land  for  an 
instant  on  the  wet  sand,  and  then  to  be  sucked 
back  into  the  hungry  waters. 

The  lady  of  the  General  is  there,  her  festal 
robes  fluttering  and  dampening  in  the  sticky 
salt  wind,  and  the  veterans,  in  their  shirt 
sleeves  and  hats  bound  round  with  gold  cord, 
are  running  to  and  fro  shouting  in  great  glee, 
and  rescuing  whatever  comes  within  their  reach 
as  if  they  were  scouring  over  a  conquered  field 
— charging  into  the  edge  of  the  flood,  and  lay- 
ing down  plans  to  rescue  groups  of  youngsters 
who  have  been  surrounded  unwittingly,  as  in- 
dustriously as  if  they  were  at  the  pontoon- 
bridges  again. 

"  The  ball's  open  !  " 

"  Don't  ye  hear  the  rebel  yell  ?  " 

"  Lay  down  quick  !   there  comes  a  shell !  " 

"  Nigger  eat  sponge  cake  !  " 

How  the  old  boys  enjoy  their  holiday,  and 
riot  in  the  war  of  the  elements  ! 

Some  tire  of  the  spectacle,  and  go  away,  but 
others  come  to  fill  their  places.  Hour  after 
hour  the  sea  becomes  more  furious,  the  wind 
256 


The  Widow  of  the  General 

snipping  off  the  crests  of  the  waves  until  no 
eye  can  penetrate  the  thickening  spray  and 
spume.  Out  of  the  invisible  the  great  walls  of 
green  chase  each  other,  more  majestic  and  irre- 
sistible than  ever,  and  all  the  time  the  sky 
overhead  is  without  a  cloud,  and  behind,  the 
heat  is  throbbing  above  the  orchards  and  the 
village  as  if  the  land  took  no  note  of  the  sea. 

The  beach  has  risen  foot  after  foot,  built  up 
by  the  layers  of  sand  brought  in  and  released 
by  the  boiling  surf,  until  the  bath  -  houses, 
which  have  clung  to  their  foundations,  look 
like  hen-coops,  with  the  flood  swirling  into  the 
narrow  strips  of  darkness  under  the  eaves  which 
were  once  the  tops  of  doorways,  and  the  shel- 
ters of  oak  boughs,  built  to  protect  the  horses 
from  the  sun,  are  torn  and  dripping  a  few 
inches  above  the  surface  of  the  new  beach. 

Fascinated  by  the  grandeur  of  the  spectacle, 
and  absorbed  in  watching  the  physical  changes 
wrought  in  the  land  by  this  battle  between  the 
sand  and  the  sea,  the  people  linger  on  the 
dunes  until  sunset,  and  then  hurry  to  their 
homes  to  snatch  a  mouthful  of  refreshment,  and 
come  again  with  thick  wraps  to  crouch  on  the 
dry  hills  and  watch  and  marvel. 

The  old  soldiers  have  built  fires  of  drift-wood 
behind  the  scarps  of  the  sand  hills,  and  as  the 

257 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


widow  of  their  beloved  General  comes  again, 
they  insist  upon  stationing  her  party  at  the 
camp  fires  while  they  go  and  come  on  the  ridge 
to  bring  her  news  of  the  enemy. 

Hark  !  what  is  that  sound,  half  heard  and 
half  feared,  which  seems  to  come  out  of  the 
darkness  through  the  roaring  of  the  surf  ?  Not 
faint,  as  betokening  distance,  but  undetermin- 
able in  the  tumult  of  sound.  Once  ! — doubted 
— the  people  murmur,  "Did  you  hear?" 
Twice  !  —  feared  —  the  crowd  is  hushed. 
Thrice !  Thrice .'  Then  the  people  know 
they  have  heard  guns  from  a  crew  in  distress 
close  behind  the  impassable  wall  —  know  that 
they  are  fellow-creatures  facing  death,  actually 
but  a  few  hundred  yards  off  the  beach,  while 
practically  they  may  be  as  many  leagues  away. 

Boats  are  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  crew 
has  come  up  from  the  station,  and  the  old  sol- 
diers are  running  to  and  fro  with  ropes,  and  help- 
ing to  drag  the  mortar  on  to  the  highest  sand 
hill.  From  time  to  time  the  guns  are  heard 
again — one — two — three,  and  rockets  are  sent 
up  from  the  land,  ploughing  away  into  the  gloom, 
and  bursting  over  the  breakers  into  flower-pots. 

An  hour  has  passed.  The  crews  have  come 
up  from  four  miles  to  the  north  and  from  four 
miles  to  the  south. 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


And  now  the  eastern  sky  is  reddening  behind 
the  spume  of  the  surf  which  hides  the  rising 
moon.  Again  the  guns — one — two — three — 
and  guided  by  the  sound  the  practised  eyes  of 
the  surf-men,  aided  by  the  growing  light,  de- 
tect a  blotch  of  shadow  through  the  veil  of 
spume  that  may  be  the  spars  of  the  wreck. 

One  after  another  the  mortars  throw  their 
shells  athwart  the  sea,  until  at  last  a  line  is 
found  to  be  taut,  and  communication  is  estab- 
lished with  something  living  on  the  ship. 

In  all  the  turmoil  and  excitement  no  one  is 
so  calm  and  collected  as  the  General's  widow. 
Who  else,  indeed,  shall  establish  the  hospital  by 
the  fires  in  the  lee  of  the  sand  dunes  ?  Who 
but  her  old  soldiers  shall  be  the  stretcher- 
bearers,  and  who  but  they  her  willing  orderlies 
eager  to  do  her  bidding — running  post  to  the 
village  for  blankets  and  stimulants,  marshalling 
the  doctors,  confiscating  the  available  supplies 
of  the  life-saving  station,  and  ready  to  turn 
carts  and  phaetons  into  ambulances,  every  old 
boy  a  provost  marshal  in  himself,  sworn  into 
the  service  of  the  tall  quiet  lady  wearing  the 
black  ulster  over  the  dainty  spring  costume? 

The  incomparable  lady  of  the  General,  pupil 
of  the  revered  master  who  still  lies  alone  on  the 
hill,  putting  into  practice  the  old  lessons  of  the 

^59 


The  Widow  of  the  General 

camp,  decorating  his  memory  with  the  sub- 
stance of  brave  deeds,  as  she  has  just  strewn  his 
grave  with  the  symbol  of  flowers. 

The  battle  is  over.  The  dead  and  the 
wounded  are  coming  rapidly  into  the  field 
hospital,  tenderly  borne  by  the  practised  old 
stretcher  -  bearers.  A  few  have  come  ashore 
safely  by  the  running  rigging  over  the  rope ; 
but  alas  !  more  have  been  thrown  up  by  the 
surf,  beaten  and  mangled  by  the  timbers  of  the 
breaking  ship. 

In  the  light  of  the  flaring  fires  the  uncon- 
scious, the  dying,  and  the  dead  are  gathered 
on  the  sand,  the  nurses  and  doctors  busy  with 
their  ministrations.  The  tall  lady  of  the  Gen- 
eral, mistress  of  every  detail,  is  moving  gently 
from  group  to  group  through  the  smoke,  calling 
each  of  her  veteran  assistants  by  name,  while 
the  remnant  of  her  old  soldiers  is  posted  in  an 
impassable  cordon  to  keep  back  the  idle  crowd 
of  lookers-on. 

One  after  another,  with  incredible  labor,  the 
half-drowned  have  been  revived,  broken  limbs 
have  been  set,  and  the  unhappy  victims  borne 
away  through  the  summer  night  to  comfortable 
quarters  in  the  village. 

Bodies  are  yet  to  be  recovered  from  the 
waves,  but  only  bodies.     The  gray  banner  of 

260 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


the  coming  day  is  already  streaming  above  the 
pitiless  sea,  paling  the  light  of  the  fires,  and 
rendering  more  ghastly  the  scenes  behind  the 
sheltering  dunes.  The  lady  of  the  General 
shows  no  signs  of  fatigue  and  no  abatement  of 
energy,  as  constant  to  her  self-imposed  duty  as 
her  old  guard,  silhouetted  damp  and  chilly 
against  the  morning. 

Besides  the  hopelessly  dead,  covered  ten- 
derly from  sight,  there  is  but  one  remaining 
tenant  of  the  hospital,  the  battered  and 
wounded  form  of  a  grizzled  old  man,  now 
showing  faint  signs  of  consciousness.  The 
doctors  are  at  work  again,  and  the  lady  of  the 
General  bends  over  the  old  body,  watching 
hopefully  the  returning  sparks  of  life,  and  feel- 
ing that  her  long  vigil  is  nearly  at  end,  and 
that  she  can  soon  dismiss  her  faithful  guard, 
for  whom  she  feels  more  solicitude  than  for 
herself.      More  stimulants  are  administered. 

She  bends  down  and  raises  the  old  head, 
bolstering  it  up  with  a  roll  of  blankets,  and  sees 
the  closed  eyes  open  and  shut  again.  Thank 
God,  in  his  goodness,  it  is  only  a  question  of 
time  !  When  the  eyes  reopen,  she  is  chafing 
one  cold  hand  between  her  warm  palms.  The 
patient  makes  a  weak  effort  to  move,  and  utters 
a  snarling  groan,  delightful  to  the  ear  of  the 

261 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


doctor.  Then  the  doctor  redoubles  his  efforts, 
vigorously  rubbing  and  slapping  the  patient's 
sound  leg.  With  persistent  effort  he  has  drawn 
off  the  sodden  boot,  to  find — a  leg  of  cork  ! 

"  That  beats  the  record,"  cried  the  ex- 
hausted medical  man. 

"Shut  up!"  growled  the  patient.  And 
then,  his  eyes  resting  on  the  lady,  and  his 
crooked  fingers  closing  around  her  hand, 
"  Jack's  Emily,  by  G — !  " 

And    then   she    recognizes    Colonel    Robert 

,  C.S.A.,   dearest  friend  of  the   General, 

and  what  should  she  do  at  last  but  break  down 
in  a  flood  of  tears  ! 

"Call  in  the  guard,  Emily,"  said  the  old 
man;  "the  fight's  over.  I  want  t'  see  a 
United — States — soldier  once  more." 

Then  the  old  veterans  come  trooping  around 
the  dying  Colonel,  C.S.A.,  their  dumb  eyes 
full  of  sympathy. 

Clinging  with  his  left  hand  to  the  hand  of 
Emily,  widow  of  his  dearest  old  friend,  he 
stretches  his  right  to  the  nearest  old  soldier, 
grasping  with  all  his  poor  power. 

"Comrades,"  said  the  Colonel,  "you — 
were  born  on — the  right — side.  For  God's 
sake — boys — old  boys — stand  shoulder — to — 
shoulder — for  the — old   flag.      God  bless  you  ! 

2^2 


The  Widow  of  the  General 


Emily —  Jack's —  Emily — I'm —  going —  lay — 
i:ie — by — Jack. ' ' 

And  so  the  two  officers  of  the  old  army  sleep 
shoulder  to  shoulder  at  last,  in  the  village  by 
the  sea,  watched  over  by  the  dearest  friend  of 
both,  and  yearly  strewn  with  roses  and  flowers 
of  the  magnolia  and  orange. 


263 


The  Adventures  of  Certain 
Prisoners 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    CERTAIN 
PRISONERS 

IT  was  past  noon  of  the  first  day  of  the 
bloody  contest  in  the  Wilderness.  The 
guns  of  the  Fifth  Corps,  led  by  Battery  D 
of  the  ist  New  York  Artillery,  were  halted 
along  the  Orange  turnpike,  by  which  we  had 
made  the  fruitless  campaign  to  Mine  Run. 
The  continuous  roar  of  musketry  in  front  and 
to  the  left  indicated  that  the  infantry  was  des- 
perately engaged,  while  the  great  guns  filling 
every  wooded  road  leading  up  to  the  battle- 
field were  silent.  Our  drivers  were  lounging 
about  the  horses,  while  the  cannoneers  lay  on 
the  green  grass  by  the  roadside  or  walked  by 
the  pieces.  Down  the  line  came  an  order  for 
the  centre  section,  under  my  command,  to  ad- 
vance and  pass  the  right  section,  which  lay  in 
front  of  us.  General  Warren,  surrounded  by 
his  staff,  sat  on  a  gray  horse  at  the  right  of  the 
road  where  the  Avoods  bordered  an  open  field 
dipping  between  two  wooded  ridges.  The 
position  we  were  leaving  was  admirable,  while 
267 


T})e  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisojiers 

the  one  to  which  we  were  ordered,  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  narrow  field,  was  wholly  im- 
practicable. The  captain  had  received  his 
orders  in  person  from  General  Warren,  and 
joined  my  command  as  we  passed. 

We  dashed  down  the  road  at  a  trot,  the  can- 
noneers running  beside  their  pieces.  At  the 
centre  of  the  field  we  crossed  by  a  wooden 
bridge  over  a  deep,  dry  ditch,  and  came  rapid- 
ly into  position  at  the  side  of  the  turnpike  and 
facing  the  thicket.  As  the  cannoneers  were  not 
all  up,  the  captain  and  I  dismounted  and  lent  a 
hand  in  swinging  round  the  heavy  trails.  The 
air  was  fiiU  of  minie-balls,  some  whistling  by 
like  mad  hornets,  and  others,  partly  spent, 
humming  like  big  nails.  One  of  the  latter 
struck  my  knee  with  force  enough  to  wound  to 
the  bone  without  penetrating  the  grained - 
leather  boot  -  leg.  In  front  of  us  the  ground 
rose  into  the  timber  where  our  infantry  was  en- 
gaged. It  was  madness  to  continue  firing  here, 
for  my  shot  must  first  plough  through  our  own 
lines  before  reaching  the  enemy.  So  after  one 
discharge  the  captain  ordered  the  limbers  to 
the  rear,  and  the  section  started  back  at  a  gal- 
lop. My  horse  was  cut  on  the  flanks,  and  his 
plunging,  with  my  disabled  knee,  delayed  me 
in  mounting,  and  prevented  my  seeing  why  the 
268 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

carriages  kept  to  the  grass  instead  of  getting 
upon  the  roadway.  When  I  overtook  the  guns 
they  had  come  to  a  forced  halt  at  the  dry  ditch, 
now  full  of  skulkers,  an  angle  of  which  cut  the 
way  to  the  bridge.  Brief  as  the  interval  had 
been,  not  a  man  of  my  command  was  in  sight. 
The  lead  horse  of  the  gun  team  at  my  side  had 
been  shot  and  was  reeling  in  the  harness. 
Slipping  to  the  ground,  I  un toggled  one  trace 
at  the  collar  to  release  him,  and  had  placed  my 
hand  on  the  other  when  I  heard  the  demand 
"  Surrender  !  "  and  turning  found  in  my  face 
two  big  pistols  in  the  hands  of  an  Alabama 
colonel.  "  Give  me  that  sword,"  said  he.  I 
pressed  the  clasp  and  let  it  fall  to  the  ground, 
where  it  remained.  The  colonel  had  taken  me 
by  the  right  arm,  and  as  we  turned  toward  the 
road  I  took  in  the  whole  situation  at  a  glance. 
My  chestnut  horse  and  the  captain's  bald-faced 
brown  were  dashing  frantically  against  the  long, 
swaying  gun  teams.  By  the  bridge  stood  a 
company  of  the  6ist  Alabama  Infantry  in  but- 
ternut suits  and  slouch  hats,  shooting  strag- 
gling and  wounded  Zouaves  from  a  Pennsyl- 
vania brigade  as  they  appeared  in  groups  of 
two  or  three  on  the  road  in  front.  The  col- 
onel as  he  handed  me  over  to  his  men  ordered 
his  troops  to  take  what  prisoners  they  could 
269 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

and  to  cease  firing.  The  guns  which  we  were 
forced  to  abandon  were  a  bone  of  contention 
until  they  were  secured  by  the  enemy  on  the 
third  day,  at  which  time  but  one  of  the  twenty- 
four  team  horses  was  living. 

With  a  few  other  prisoners  I  was  led  by  a 
short  detour  through  the  woods.  In  ten  min- 
utes we  had  turned  the  flank  of  both  armies 
and  reached  the  same  turnpike  in  the  rear  of 
our  enemy.  A  line  of  ambulances  was  moving 
back  on  the  road,  all  filled  with  wounded,  and 
when  we  saw  a  vacant  seat  beside  a  driver  I 
was  hoisted  up  to  the  place.  The  boy  driver 
was  in  a  high  state  of  excitement.  He  said 
that  two  shells  had  come  flying  down  this  same 
road  and  showed  where  the  trace  of  the  near 
mule  had  been  cut  by  a  piece  of  shell,  for 
which  I  was  directly  responsible. 

The  field  hospital  of  General  Jubal  Early's 
corps  was  near  Locust  Grove  Tavern,  where 
the  wounded  Yankees  were  in  charge  of  Sur- 
geon Donnelly  of  the  Pennsylvania  Reserves. 
No  guard  was  established,  as  no  one  was  sup- 
posed to  be  in  condition  to  run  away.  At  the 
end  of  a  week,  however,  my  leg  had  greatly 
improved,  although  I  was  still  unable  to  use  it. 
In  our  party  was  another  lieutenant,  an  aide  on 
the  staff  of  General  James  C.  Rice,  whose  horse 
270 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

had  been  shot  under  him  while  riding  at  full 
speed  with  despatches.  Lieutenant  Hadley 
had  returned  to  consciousness  to  find  himself 
a  prisoner  in  hospital,  somewhat  bruised,  and 
robbed  of  his  valuables,  but  not  otherwise  dis- 
abled. We  two  concluded  to  start  for  Washing- 
ton by  way  of  Kelly's  Ford.  I  traded  my  pen- 
knife for  a  haversack  of  corn-bread  with  one  of 
the  Confederate  nurses,  and  a  w'ounded  officer, 
Colonel  Miller  of  a  New  York  regiment,  gave 
us  a  pocket  compass.  I  provided  myself  with 
a  stout  pole,  which  I  used  with  both  hands  in 
lieu  of  my  left  foot.  At  9  p.m.  we  set  out, 
passing  during  the  night  the  narrow  field  and 
the  dry  ditch  where  I  had  left  my  guns.  Only 
a  pile  of  dead  horses  marked  the  spot. 

On  a  grassy  bank  we  captured  a  firefly  and 
shut  him  in  between  the  glass  and  the  face  of 
our  pocket  compass.  With  such  a  guide  we 
shaped  our  course  for  the  Rapidan.  After 
travelling  nearly  all  night  we  lay  down  exhaust- 
ed upon  a  bluff  within  sound  of  the  river  and 
slept  until  sunrise.  Hastening  to  our  feet 
again,  we  hurried  down  to  the  ford.  Just  be- 
fore reaching  the  river  we  heard  shouts  behind 
us  and  saw  a  man  beckoning  and  running  after 
us.  Believing  the  man  an  enemy,  we  dashed 
into  the  shallow  water,  and  after  crossing  safely 
271 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


hobbled  away  up  the  other  side  as  fast  as  a 
man  with  one  leg  and  a  pole  could  travel.  I 
afterward  met  this  man,  himself  a  prisoner,  at 
Macon,  Ga.  He  was  the  officer  of  our  pick- 
ets, and  would  have  conducted  us  into  our  lines 
if  we  had  permitted  him  to  come  up  with  us. 
As  it  was,  we  found  a  snug  hiding  -  place  in 
a  thicket  of  swamp  growth,  where  we  lay  in 
concealment  all  day.  After  struggling  on  a 
itvf  miles  in  a  chilling  rain  my  leg  became  so 
painful  that  it  was  impossible  to  go  farther.  A 
house  was  near  by,  and  we  threw  ourselves  on 
the  mercy  of  the  family.  Good  Mrs.  Brandon 
had  harbored  the  pickets  of  both  armies  again 
and  again,  and  had  luxuriated  in  real  coffee 
and  tea  and  priceless  salt  at  the  hands  of  our 
officers.  She  bore  the  Yankees  only  good-will, 
and  after  dressing  my  wound  we  sat  down  to 
breakfast  with  herself  and  her  daughters. 

After  breakfast  we  were  conducted  to  the 
second  half-story,  which  was  one  unfinished 
room.  There  was  a  bed  in  one  corner  where 
we  were  to  sleep.  Beyond  the  stairs  was  a  pile 
of  yellow  ears  of  corn,  and  from  the  rafters  and 
sills  hung  a  variety  of  dried  herbs  and  medi- 
cinal roots.  Here  our  meals  were  served,  and 
the  girls  brought  us  books  and  read  aloud  to 
pass  away  the  long  days.  I  was  confined  to 
272 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


the  bed,  and  my  companion  never  ventured  be- 
low stairs  except  on  one  dark  night,  when  at 
my  earnest  entreaty  he  set  out  for  Kelly's  Ford, 
but  soon  returned,  unable  to  make  his  way  in 
the  darkness.  One  day  we  heard  the  door 
open  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  a  tread  of 
heavy  boots  on  the  steps,  and  the  clank, 
clank  of  something  that  sounded  very  much 
like  a  sabre.  Out  of  the  floor  rose  a  gray 
slouch  hat  with  the  yellow  cord  and  tassel  of 
a  cavalry-man,  and  in  another  moment  there 
stood  on  the  landing  one  of  the  most  aston- 
ished troopers  that  ever  was  seen.  "  Coot  " 
Brandon  was  one  of  "  Jeb  "  Stuart's  rangers, 
and  came  every  day  for  corn  for  his  horse. 
Heretofore  the  corn  had  been  brought  down 
for  him,  and  he  was  as  ignorant  of  our  pres- 
ence as  we  were  of  his  existence.  On  this 
day  no  pretext  could  keep  him  from  coming 
up  to  help  himself.  His  mother  worked 
on  his  sympathies,  and  he  departed  prom- 
ising her  that  he  would  leave  us  undisturbed. 
But  the  very  next  morning  he  turned  up 
again,  this  time  accompanied  by  another 
ranger  of  sterner  mold.  A  parole  was  exacted 
from  my  able-bodied  companion  and  we  were 
left  for  another  twenty-four  hours,  when  I  was 
considered   in  condition  to  be  moved.     Mrs. 

273 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


Brandon  gave  us  each  a  new  blue  overcoat 
from  a  plentiful  store  of  Uncle  Sam's  clothing 
she  had  on  hand,  and  I  opened  my  heart  and 
gave  her  my  last  twenty-dollar  greenback — and 
wished  I  had  it  back  again  every  day  for  the 
next  ten  months. 

I  was  mounted  on  a  horse,  and  with  Lieu- 
tenant Hadley  on  foot  we  were  marched  under 
guard  all  day  until  we  arrived  at  a  field  hospi- 
tal established  in  the  rear  of  Longstreet's  corps, 
my  companion  being  sent  on  to  some  prison 
for  officers.  Thence  I  was  forwarded  with  a 
train-load  of  wounded  to  Lynchburg,  on  which 
General  Hunter  was  then  marching,  and  we 
had  good  reason  to  hope  for  a  speedy  deliver- 
ance. On  more  than  one  day  we  heard  his 
guns  to  the  north,  where  there  was  no  force 
but  a  few  citizens  with  bird-guns  to  oppose  the 
entrance  of  his  command.  The  slaves  were  em- 
ployed on  a  line  of  breastworks  which  there 
was  no  adequate  force  to  hold.  It  was  our 
opinion  that  one  well-disciplined  regiment 
could  have  captured  and  held  the  town.  It 
was  several  days  before  a  portion  of  General 
Breckinridge's  command  arrived  for  the  de- 
fence of  Lynchburg. 

I  had  clung  to  my  clean  bed  in  the  hospital 
just  as  long  as  my  rapidly  healing  wound  would 
274 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

permit,  but  was  soon  transferred  to  a  prison 
where  at  night  the  sleepers — Yankees,  Confed- 
erate deserters,  and  negroes — were  so  crowded 
upon  the  floor  that  some  lay  under  the  feet  of 
the  guards  in  the  doorways.  The  atmosphere 
was  dreadful.  I  fell  ill,  and  for  three  days  lay 
with  my  head  in  the  fireplace,  more  dead  than 
alive. 

A  few  days  thereafter  about  three  hundred 
prisoners  were  crowded  into  cattle  cars  bound 
for  Andersonville.  We  must  have  been  a  week 
on  this  railroad  journey  when  an  Irish  lieu- 
tenant of  a  Rochester  regiment  and  I,  who  had 
been  allowed  to  ride  in  the  baggage  car,  were 
taken  from  the  train  at  Macon,  Ga. ,  where 
about  sixteen  hundred  Union  officers  were  con- 
fined at  the  Fair  Grounds.  General  Alexander 
Shaler,  of  Sedgwick's  corps,  also  captured  at 
the  Wilderness,  was  the  ranking  officer,  and  to 
him  was  accorded  a  sort  of  interior  command  of 
the  camp.  Before  passing  through  the  gate  we 
expected  to  see  a  crowd  bearing  some  outward 
semblance  of  respectability.  Instead,  we  were 
instantly  surrounded  by  several  hundred  ragged, 
bare-footed,  frowsy-headed  men  shouting ' '  Fresh 
fish  !  "  at  the  top  of  their  voices  and  eagerly 
asking  for  news.  With  rare  exceptions  all  were 
shabbily  dressed.     There  was,  however,  a  little 

275 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

knot  of  naval  officers,  who  had  been  captured 
in  the  windings  of  the  narrow  Rappahannock 
by  a  force  of  cavalry,  and  who  were  the  aristo- 
crats of  the  camp.  They  were  housed  in  a  sub- 
stantial fair-building  in  the  centre  of  the  grounds, 
and  by  some  special  terms  of  surrender  must 
have  brought  their  complete  wardrobes  along. 
On  hot  days  they  appeared  in  spotless  white 
duck,  which  they  were  permitted  to  send  out- 
side to  be  laundered.  Their  mess  was  abun- 
dantly supplied  with  the  fruits  and  vegetables  of 
the  season.  The  ripe  red  tomatoes  they  were 
daily  seen  to  peel  were  the  envy  of  the  camp. 
I  well  remember  that  to  me,  at  this  time,  a 
favorite  occupation  was  to  lie  on  my  back  with 
closed  eyes  and  imagine  the  dinner  I  would  or- 
der if  I  were  in  a  first-class  hotel.  It  was  no 
unusual  thing  to  see  a  dignified  colonel  washing 
his  lower  clothes  in  a  pail,  clad  only  in  his  uni- 
form dress-coat.  Ladies  sometimes  appeared  on 
the  guard-walk  outside  the  top  of  the  stockade, 
on  which  occasions  the  cleanest  and  best-dressed 
men  turned  out  to  see  and  be  seen.  I  was  quite 
proud  to  appear  in  a  clean  gray  shirt,  spotless 
white  drawers,  and  mocassins  made  of  blue  over- 
coat cloth. 

On    the    Fourth   of  July,   after    the   regular 
morning  count,  we  repaired  to  the  big  central 
276 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


building  and  held  an  informal  celebration.  One 
officer  had  brought  into  captivity,  concealed  on 
his  person,  a  little  silk  national  flag,  which  was 
carried  up  into  the  cross-beams  of  the  building, 
and  the  sight  of  it  created  the  wildest  enthusi- 
asm. We  cheered  the  flag  and  applauded  the 
speeches  until  a  detachment  of  the  guard  suc- 
ceeded in  putting  a  stop  to  our  proceedings. 
They  tried  to  capture  the  flag,  but  in  this  they 
were  not  successful.  We  were  informed  that 
cannon  were  planted  commanding  the  camp, 
and  would  be  opened  on  us  if  we  renewed  our 
demonstrations.     ' 

Soon  after  this  episode  the  fall  of  Atlanta  and 
the  subsequent  movements  of  General  Sherman 
led  to  the  breaking  up  of  the  camp  at  Macon, 
and  to  the  transfer  of  half  of  us  to  a  camp  at 
Charleston  and  half  to  Savannah.  Late  in  Sep- 
tember, by  another  transfer,  we  found  ourselves 
together  again  at  Columbia.  We  had  no  form 
of  shelter,  and  there  was  no  stockade  around 
the  camp,  only  a  guard  and  a  dead-line.  Dur- 
ing two  hours  of  each  morning  an  extra  line  of 
guards  was  stationed  around  an  adjoining  piece 
of  pine  woods,  into  which  we  were  allowed  to 
go  and  cut  wood  and  timber  to  construct  for 
ourselves  huts  for  the  approaching  winter.  Our 
ration  at  this  time  consisted  of  raw  corn-meal 
277 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

and  sorghum  molasses,  without  salt  or  any  pro- 
vision of  utensils  for  cooking.  The  camp  took 
its  name  from  our  principal  article  of  diet,  and 
was  by  common  consent  known  as  "  Camp  Sor- 
ghum. ' '  A  stream  of  clear  water  was  accessible 
during  the  day  by  an  extension  of  the  guards, 
but  at  night  the  lines  were  so  contracted  as  to 
leave  the  path  leading  to  the  water  outside  the 
guard.  Lieutenant  S.  H.  M.  Byers,  who  had 
already  written  the  well-known  lyric  "  Sher- 
man's March  to  the  Sea,"  was  sharing  my  tent, 
which  consisted  of  a  ragged  blanket.  We  had 
been  in  the  new  camp  but  little  more  than  a 
week  when  we  determined  to  make  an  attempt 
at  escape.  Preparatory  to  starting  we  concealed 
two  tin  cups  and  two  blankets  in  the  pine  woods 
to  which  we  had  access  during  the  chopping 
hours,  and  here  was  to  be  our  rendezvous  in  case 
we  were  separated  in  getting  out.  Covering 
my  shoulders  with  an  old  gray  blanket  and  pro- 
viding myself  with  a  stick  from  the  woodpile 
about  the  size  of  a  gun,  I  tried  to  smuggle  my- 
self into  the  relief  guard  when  the  line  was  con- 
tracted at  six  o'clock.  Unfortunately  an  unex- 
pected halt  was  called,  and  the  soldier  in  front 
turned  and  discovered  me.  I  was  now  more 
than  ever  determined  on  getting  away.  After 
a  hurried  conference  with  Lieutenant  Byers,  at 

278 


The  AJveiitiiit's  of  Certain  Prisoners 

which  I  promised  to  wait  at  our  rendezvous  in 
the  woods  until  I  heard  the  posting  of  the  ten 
o'clock  relief,  I  proceeded  alone  up  the  side  of 
the  camp  to  a  point  where  a  group  of  low  cedars 
grew  close  to  the  dead-line.  Concealing  my- 
self in  their  dark  shadow,  I  could  observe  at  my 
leisure  the  movements  of  the  sentinels.  A  full 
moon  was  just  rising  above  the  horizon  to  my 
left,  and  in  the  soft,  misty  light  the  guards  were 
plainly  visible  for  a  long  distance  either  way. 
An  open  field  from  which  the  small  growth  had 
been  recently  cut  away  lay  beyond,  and  between 
the  camp  and  the  guard-line  ran  a  broad  road 
of  soft  sand — noiseless  to  cross,  but  so  white  in 
the  moonlight  that  a  leaf  blown  across  it  by  the 
wind  could  scarcely  escape  a  vigilant  eye.  The 
guards  were  bundled  in  their  overcoats,  and  I 
soon  observed  that  the  two  who  met  opposite 
to  my  place  of  concealment  turned  and  walked 
their  short  beats  without  looking  back.  Wait- 
ing until  they  separated  again,  and  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  I  might  with  equal  likelihood  be 
seen  by  a  dozen  sentinels  in  either  direction,  I 
ran  quickly  across  the  soft  sand  road  several 
yards  into  the  open  field,  and  threw  myself  down 
upon  the  uneven  ground.  First  I  dragged  my 
body  on  my  elbows  for  a  few  yards,  then  I  crept 
on  my  knees,  and  so  gradually  gained  in  dis- 

279 


The  Adventures  of  Ceiiaiii  Prisoners 

tance  until  I  could  rise  to  a  standing  position 
and  get  safely  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees.  With 
some  difficulty  I  found  the  cups  and  blankets 
we  had  concealed,  and  lay  down  to  await  the 
arrival  of  my  companion.  Soon  I  heard  several 
shots  which  I  understood  too  well ;  and,  as  I 
afterward  learned,  two  officers  were  shot  dead 
for  attempting  the  feat  I  had  accomplished,  and 
perhaps  in  emulation  of  my  success.  A  third 
young  officer,  whom  I  knew,  was  also  killed  in 
camp  by  one  of  the  shots  fired  at  the  others. 

At  ten  o'clock  I  set  out  alone  and  made  my 
way  across  the  fields  to  the  banks  of  the  Saluda, 
where  a  covered  bridge  crossed  to  Columbia. 
Hiding  when  it  was  light,  wandering  through 
fields  and  swamps  by  night,  and  venturing  at 
last  to  seek  food  of  negroes,  I  proceeded  for 
thirteen  days  toward  the  sea. 

In  general  I  had  followed  the  Columbia  turn- 
pike ;  at  a  quaint  little  chapel  on  the  shore  of 
Goose  Creek,  but  a  few  miles  out  of  Charleston, 
I  turned  to  the  north  and  bent  my  course  for 
the  coast  above  the  city.  About  this  time  I 
learned  that  I  should  find  no  boats  along  the 
shore  between  Charleston  and  the  mouth  of  the 
Santee,  everything  able  to  float  having  been 
destroyed  to  prevent  the  escape  of  the  negroes 
and  the  desertion  of  the  soldiers.     I  was  ferried 


The  Adventures  of  Certam  Frisoners 

over  the  Broad  River  by  a  crusty  old  darky 
who  came  paddling  across  in  response  to  my 
cries  of  "  0-v-e-r,"  and  who  seemed  so  put  out 
because  I  had  no  fare  for  him  that  I  gave  him 
my  case-knife.  The  next  evening  I  had  the 
only  taste  of  meat  of  this  thirteen  days'  journey, 
which  I  got  from  an  old  negro  whom  I  found 
alone  in  his  cabin  eating  possum  and  rice. 

I  had  never  seen  the  open  sea-coast  beaten  by 
the  surf,  and  after  being  satisfied  that  I  had  no 
hope  of  escape  in  that  direction  it  was  in  part 
my  curiosity  that  led  me  on,  and  partly  a  vague 
idea  that  I  would  get  Confederate  transportation 
back  to  Columbia  and  take  a  fresh  start  west- 
ward bound.  The  tide  was  out,  and  in  a  little 
cove  I  found  an  abundance  of  oysters  bedded  i  n 
the  mud,  some  of  which  I  cracked  with  stones 
and  ate.  After  satisfying  my  hunger,  and  find- 
ing the  sea  rather  unexpectedly  tame  inside  the 
line  of  islands  which  marked  the  eastern  hori- 
zon, I  bent  my  steps  toward  a  fire,  where  I  found 
a  detachment  of  Confederate  coast-guards,  to 
whom  I  offered  myself  as  a  guest  as  coolly  as  if 
my  whole  toilsome  journey  had  been  prosecuted 
to  that  end. 

In  the  morning  I  was  marched  a  few  miles  to 
Mount  Pleasant,  near  Fort  Moultrie,  and  taken 
thence  in  a  sail-boat  across  the  harbor  to  Charles- 
281 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


ton.  At  night  I  found  myself  again  in  the  city 
jail,  where  with  a  large  party  of  officers  I  had 
spent  most  of  the  month  of  August.  My  cell- 
mate was  Lieutenant  H.  G.  Dorr  of  the  4th 
Massachusetts  Cavalry,  with  whom  I  journeyed 
by  rail  back  to  Columbia,  arriving  at  "  Camp 
Sorghum  "  about  the  ist  of  November. 

I  rejoined  the  mess  of  Lieutenant  Byers  and 
introduced  to  the  others  Lieutenant  Dorr,  whose 
cool  assurance  was  a  prize  that  procured  us  all 
the  blessings  possible.  He  could  borrow  frying- 
pans  from  the  guards,  money  from  his  brother 
Masons  at  headquarters,  and  I  believe  if  we  had 
asked  him  to  secure  us  a  gun  he  would  have 
charmed  it  out  of  the  hand  of  a  sentinel  on 
duty. 

Lieutenant  Edward  E.  Sill,  of  General  Daniel 
Butterfield's  staff,  whom  I  had  met  at  Macon, 
during  my  absence  had  come  to  ' '  Sorghum  ' ' 
from  a  fruitless  trip  to  Macon  for  exchange,  and 
I  had  promised  to  join  him  in  an  escape  when 
he  could  secure  a  pair  of  shoes.  On  the  29th 
of  November  our  mess  had  cut  down  a  big  pine- 
tree  and  had  rolled  into  camp  a  short  section  of 
the  trunk,  which  a  Tennessee  officer  was  to  split 
into  shingles  to  complete  our  hut,  a  pretty  good 
cabin  with  earthen  fireplace.  While  we  were 
resting  from  our  exertion.  Sill  appeared  with  his 
282 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

friend  Lieutenant  A.  T.  Lamson  of  the  104th 
New  York  Infantry,  and  reminded  me  of  my 
promise.  The  prisoners  always  respected  their 
parole  on  wood-chopping  expeditions,  and  went 
out  and  came  in  at  the  main  entrance.  The 
guards  were  a  particularly  verdant  body  of  back 
country  militia,  and  the  confusion  of  the  parole 
system  enabled  us  to  practice  ruses.  In  our 
present  difficulty  we  resorted  to  a  new  expedient 
and  forged  a  parole.  The  next  day  all  three  of 
us  were  quietly  walking  down  the  guard-line  on 
the  outside.  At  the  creek,  where  all  the  camp 
came  for  water,  we  found  Dorr  and  Byers  and 
West,  and  caUing  to  one  of  them  in  the  presence 
of  the  guard  asked  for  blankets  to  bring  in  spruce 
boughs  for  beds.  When  the  blankets  came 
they  contained  certain  haversacks,  cups,  and  lit- 
tle indispensable  articles  for  the  road.  Falling- 
back  into  the  woods,  we  secured  a  safe  hiding- 
place  until  after  dark.  Just  beyond  the  village 
of  Lexington  we  successfully  evaded  the  first 
picket,  being  warned  of  its  presence  by  the 
smoldering  embers  in  the  road.  A  few  nights 
after  this,  having  exposed  ourselves  and  antici- 
pating pursuit,  we  pushed  on  until  we  came  to 
a  stream  crossing  the  road.  Up  this  we  waded 
for  some  distance  and  secured  a  hiding-place  on 
a  neighboring  hill.  In  the  morning  we  looked 
283 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


out  upon  mounted  men  and  dogs,  at  the  very 
point  where  we  had  entered  the  stream,  search- 
ing for  our  lost  trail.  We  spent  two  days,  during 
a  severe  storm  of  rain  and  sleet,  in  a  farm  barn 
where  the  slaves  were  so  drunk  on  applejack 
that  they  had  forgotten  us  and  left  us  with  noth- 
ing to  eat  but  raw  turnips.  One  night,  in  our 
search  for  provisions,  we  met  a  party  of  negroes 
burning  charcoal  who  took  us  to  their  camp 
and  sent  out  for  a  supply  of  food.  While  wait- 
ing a  venerable  "uncle"  proposed  to  hold  a 
prayer-meeting.  So,  under  the  tall  trees  and 
by  the  light  of  the  smoldering  coal-pits,  the  old 
man  prayed  long  and  fervently  to  the  "  bressed 
Lord  and  Massa  Lincoln,"  and  hearty  aniens 
echoed  through  the  woods.  Besides  a  few  small 
potatoes,  one  dried  goat  ham  was  all  our  zeal- 
ous friends  could  procure.  The  next  day,  hav- 
ing made  our  camp  in  the  secure  depths  of  a 
dry  swamp,  we  lighted  the  only  fire  we  allowed 
ourselves  between  Columbia  and  the  mountains. 
The  ham,  which  was  almost  as  light  as  cork, 
was  riddled  with  worm  holes,  and  as  hard  as  a 
petrified  sponge. 

We  avoided  the  towns,  and  after  an  endless 
variety  of  adventures  approached  the  moun- 
tains, cold,  hungry,  ragged,  and  footsore.  On 
the  night  of  December   13th  we  were  grouped 

284 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

about  a  guide-post,  at  a  fork  in  the  road,  earn- 
estly contending  as  to  which  way  we  should 
proceed.  Lieutenant  Sill  was  for  the  right^  I 
was  for  the  left,  and  no  amount  of  persuasion 
could  induce  Lieutenant  Lanison  to  decide  the 
controversy.  I  yielded,  and  we  turned  to  the 
right.  After  walking  a  mile  in  a  state  of  gen- 
eral uncertainty  we  came  to  a  low  white  farm- 
house standing  very  near  to  the  road.  It  was 
now  close  upon  midnight  and  the  windows  were 
all  dark,  but  from  a  house  of  logs,  partly  be- 
hind the  other,  gleamed  a  bright  light.  Judg- 
ing this  to  be  servants'  quarters,  tv.-o  of  us  re- 
mained back  while  Lieutenant  Sill  made  a 
cautious  approach.  In  due  time  a  negro  ap- 
peared, advancing  stealthily,  and,  beckoning  to 
my  companion  and  me,  conducted  us  in  the 
shadow  of  a  hedge  to  a  side  window,  through 
which  we  clambered  into  the  cabin.  We  were 
made  very  comfortable  in  the  glow  of  a  bright 
wood  fire.  Sweet  potatoes  were  already  roast- 
ing in  the  ashes,  and  a  tin  pot  of  barley  coffee 
was  steaming  on  the  coals.  Rain  and  sleet  had 
begun  to  fall,  and  it  was  decided  that  after  hav- 
ing been  warmed  and  refreshed  we  should  be 
concealed  in  the  barn  until  the  following  night. 
Accordingly  we  were  conducted  thither  and 
put  to  bed  upon  a  pile  of  corn -shucks  high  up 
28; 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

under  the  roof.  Secure  as  this  retreat  seemed, 
it  was  deemed  advisable  in  the  morning  to  bur- 
row several  feet  down  in  the  mow,  so  that  the 
children,  if  by  any  chance  they  should  climb  so 
high,  might  romp  unsuspecting  over  our  heads. 
We  could  still  look  out  through  the  cracks  in 
the  siding  and  get  sufficient  light  whereby  to 
study  a  map  of  the  Southern  States,  which  had 
been  brought  us  with  our  breakfast.  A  luxuri- 
ous repast  was  in  preparation,  to  be  eaten  at  the 
quarters  before  starting,  but  a  frolic  being  in 
progress,  and  a  certain  negro  present  of  ques- 
tionable fidelity,  the  banquet  was  transferred 
to  the  barn.  The  great  barn  doors  were  set 
open,  and  the  cloth  was  spread  on  the  floor  by 
the  light  of  the  moon.  Certainly  we  had  par- 
taken of  no  such  substantial  fare  within  the 
Confederacy.  The  central  dish  was  a  pork  pie, 
flanked  by  savory  little  patties  of  sausage. 
There  were  sweet  potatoes,  fleecy  biscuits,  a 
jug  of  sorghum,  and  a  pitcher  of  sweet  milk. 
Most  delicious  of  all  was  a  variety  of  corn- 
bread,  having  tiny  bits  of  fresh  pork  baked  in 
it,  like  plums  in  a  pudding. 

Filling  our  haversacks  with  the  fragments, 
we  took  grateful  leave  of  our  sable  benefactors 
and  resumed  our  journey,  retracing  our  steps  to 
the  point  of  disagreement  of  the  evening  before. 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

Long  experience  in  night  marching  had  taught 
us  extreme  caution.  We  had  advanced  along 
the  new  road  but  a  short  wa)'  when  we  were 
startled  by  the  barking  of  a  house  dog.  Ap- 
prehending that  something  was  moving  in 
front  of  us,  we  instantly  withdrew  into  the 
woods.  We  had  scarcely  concealed  ourselves 
when  two  cavalrymen  passed  along,  driving  be- 
fore them  a  prisoner.  Aware  that  it  was  high 
time  to  betake  ourselves  to  the  cross-roads  and 
describe  a  wide  circle  around  the  military  sta- 
tion at  Pickensville,  we  first  sought  informa- 
tion. A  ray  of  light  was  visible  from  a  hut  in 
the  woods,  and  believing  from  its  humble  ap- 
pearance that  it  sheltered  friends,  my  compan- 
ions lay  down  in  concealment  while  I  advanced 
to  reconnoitre.  I  gained  the  side  of  the  house, 
and  looking  through  a  crack  in  the  boards  saw, 
to  my  horror,  a  soldier  lying  on  his  back  before 
the  fire  and  playing  with  a  dog.  I  stole  back 
with  redoubled  care.  Thoroughly  alarmed  by 
the  dangers  we  had  already  encountered,  we 
decided  to  abandon  the  roads.  Near  midnight 
of  December  i6th  we  passed  through  a  wooden 
gate  on  a  level  road  leading  into  the  forest. 
Believing  that  the  lateness  of  the  hour  would 
secure  i;s  from  further  dangers,  we  resolved  to 
press  on  with  all  speed,  when  two  figures  with 
287 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


lighted  torches  came  suddenly  into  view. 
Knowing  that  we  were  yet  unseen,  we  turned 
into  the  woods  and  concealed  ourselves  behind 
separate  trees  at  no  great  distance  from  the 
path.  Soon  the  advancing  lights  revealed  two 
hunters,  mere  lads,  but  having  at  their  heels  a 
pack  of  mongrel  dogs,  with  which  they  had 
probably  been  pursuing  the  coon  or  the  pos- 
sum. The  boys  would  have  passed  unaware  of 
our  presence,  but  the  dogs,  scurrying  along 
with  their  noses  in  the  leaves,  soon  struck  our 
trail  and  were  instantly  yelping  about  us.  We 
had  possessed  ourselves  of  the  name  of  the  com- 
manding officer  of  the  neighboring  post  at 
Pendleton,  and  advanced  boldly,  representing 
ourselves  to  be  his  soldiers.  "  Then  where  did 
you  get  them  blue  pantaloons  ? ' '  they  de- 
manded, exchanging  glances,  which  showed 
they  were  not  ignorant  of  our  true  character. 
We  coolly  faced  them  down  and  resumed  our 
march  leisurely,  while  the  boys  still  lingered 
undecided.  When  out  of  sight  we  abandoned 
the  road  and  fled  at  the  top  of  our  speed.  We 
had  covered  a  long  distance  through  forest  and 
field  before  we  heard  in  our  wake  the  faint 
yelping  of  the  pack.  Plunging  into  the  first 
stream,  we  dashed  for  some  distance  along  its 
bed.  Emerging  on  the  opposite  bank,  we  sped 
288 


The  Adventiues  of  Certain  Prisoners 


on  through  marshy  fields,  skirting  high  hills 
and  bounding  down  through  dry  watercourses, 
over  shelving  stones  and  accumulated  barriers 
of  driftwood  ;  now  panting  up  a  steep  ascent, 
and  now  resting  for  a  moment  to  rub  our  shoes 
with  the  resinous  needles  of  the  pine ;  always 
within  hearing  of  the  dogs,  whose  fitful  cries 
varied  in  volume  in  accordance  with  the 
broken  conformation  of  the  intervening  coun- 
try. Knowing  that  in  speed  and  endurance  we 
were  no  match  for  our  four-footed  pursuers,  we 
trusted  to  our  precautions  for  throwing  them 
off  the  scent,  mindful  that  they  were  but  an  ill- 
bred  kennel  and  the  more  easily  to  be  disposed 
of  Physically  v/e  were  capable  of  prolonged 
exertion.  Fainter  and  less  frequent  came  the 
cry  of  the  dogs,  until,  ceasing  altogether,  we 
were  assured  of  our  escape. 

At  Oconee,  on  Sunday,  December  i8th,  we 
met  a  negro  well  acquainted  with  the  roads  and 
passes  into  North  Carolina,  who  furnished  us 
information  by  which  we  travelled  for  two 
nights,  recognizing  on  the  second  objects  which 
by  his  direction  we  avoided,  like  the  house  of 
Black  Bill  McKinney,  and  going  directly  to 
that  of  friendly  old  Tom  Handcock.  The  first 
of  these  two  nights  we  struggled  up  the  foot- 
hills and  outlying  spurs  of  the  mountains, 
289 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


through  an  uninhabited  waste  of  rolling  bar- 
rens, along  an  old  stage  road,  long  deserted, 
and  in  places  impassable  to  a  saddle  mule. 
Lying  down  before  morning,  high  up  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  we  fell  asleep,  to  be 
awakened  by  thunder  and  lightning  and  to  find 
torrents  of  hail  and  sleet  beating  upon  our 
blankets.  Chilled  to  the  bone,  we  ventured  to 
build  a  small  fire  in  a  secluded  place.  After 
dark,  and  before  abandoning  our  camp,  we 
gathered  quantities  of  wood,  stacking  it  upon 
the  fire,  which  when  we  left  it  was  a  wild  tower 
of  flame  lighting  up  the  whole  mountain  side  in 
the  direction  we  had  come,  and  seeming,  in 
some  sort,  to  atone  for  a  long  succession  of 
shivering  days  in  fireless  bivouac.  We  fol- 
lowed the  same  stage  road  through  the  scatter- 
ing settlement  of  Casher's  Valley  in  Jackson 
County,  North  Carolina.  A  little  farther  on, 
two  houses,  of  hewn  logs,  with  verandas  and 
green  blinds,  just  fitted  the  description  we  had 
received  of  the  home  of  old  Tom  Handcock. 
Knocking  boldly  at  the  door  of  the  farther  one, 
we  were  soon  in  the  presence  of  the  loyal 
mountaineer.  He  and  his  wife  had  been  sleep- 
ing on  a  bed  spread  upon  the  floor  before  the 
fire.  Drawing  this  to  one  side,  they  heaped 
the  chimney  with  green   wood   and  were  soon 

290 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

listening  with  genuine  delight  to  the  story  of 
our  adventures. 

After  breakfast  next  day,  Tom,  with  his  rifle, 
led  us  by  a  back  road  to  the  house  of  "  'Squire 
Larkin  C.  Hooper,"  a  leading  loyalist,  whom 
we  met  on  the  way,  and  together  we  proceeded 
to  his  house.  Ragged  and  forlorn,  we  were 
eagerly  welcomed  at  his  home  by  Hooper's  in- 
valid wife  and  daughters.  For  several  days 
we  enjoyed  a  hospitality  given  as  freely  to  ut- 
ter strangers  as  if  we  had  been  relatives  of  the 
family. 

Here  we  learned  of  a  party  about  to  start 
through  the  mountains  for  East  Tennessee, 
guided  by  Emanuel  Headen,  who  lived  on  the 
crest  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  Our  friend  Tom  was 
to  be  one  of  the  party,  and  other  refugees  were 
coming  over  the  Georgia  border,  where  Headen, 
better  known  in  the  settlement  as  "  Man 
Heady,"  was  mustering  his  party.  It  now  be- 
ing near  Christmas,  and  the  'squire's  family  in 
daily  expectation  of  a  relative,  who  was  a 
captain  in  the  Confederate  army,  it  was  deemed 
prudent  for  us  to  go  on  to  Headen's  under  the 
guidance  of  Tom.  Setting  out  at  sunset  on  the 
23d  of  December,  it  was  late  in  the  evening 
when  we  arrived  at  our  destination,  having 
walked  nine  miles  up  the  mountain  trails  over 
291 


ne  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


a  light  carpeting  of  snow.  Pausing  in  front  of 
a  diminutive  cabin,  through  the  chinks  of 
whose  stone  fireplace  and  stick  chimney  the 
whole  interior  seemed  to  be  red  hot  like  a  fur- 
nace, our  guide  demanded,  "  Is  Man  Heady 
to  hum?"  Receiving  a  sharp  negative  in 
reply,  he  continued,  "  Well,  can  Tom  get  to 
stay  all  night?"  At  this  the  door  flew  open 
and  a  skinny  woman  appeared,  her  home-spun 
frock  pendent  with  tow-headed  urchins. 

"  In  course  you  can,"  she  cried,  leading  the 
way  into  the  cabin.  Never  have  I  seen  so 
unique  a  character  as  this  voluble,  hatchet- 
faced,  tireless  woman.  Her  skin  was  like  yellow 
parchment,  and  I  doubt  if  she  knew  by  ex- 
perience what  it  was  to  be  sick  or  weary.  She 
had  built  the  stake-and-cap  fences  that  divided 
the  fields,  and  she  boasted  of  the  acres  she  had 
ploughed.  The  cabin  was  very  small.  Two 
bedsteads,  with  a  narrow  alleyway  between, 
occupied  half  the  interior.  One  was  heaped 
with  rubbish  and  in  the  other  slept  the  whole 
family,  consisting  of  father,  mother,  a  daughter 
of  sixteen,  and  two  little  boys.  When  I  add 
that  the  room  contained  a  massive  timber  loom, 
a  table,  a  spinning  wheel,  and  a  variety  of  rude 
seats,  it  will  be  understood  that  we  were 
crowded     uncomfortably     close    to    the     fire. 

292 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


Shrinking  back  as  far  as  possible  from  the  blaze, 
we  listened  in  amused  wonder  to  the  tongue  of 
this  seemingly  untamed  virago,  who,  neverthe- 
less, proved  to  be  the  kindest-hearted  of  women. 
She  cursed,  in  her  high-pitched  tones,  for  a 
pack  of  fools,  the  men  who  had  brought  on  the 
war.  Roderic  Norton,  who  lived  down  the 
mountain,  she  expressed  a  profane  desire  tu 
"stomp  through  the  turnpike,"  because  at 
some  time  he  had  stolen  one  of  her  hogs, 
marked,  as  to  the  ear,  with  "  two  smooth 
craps  an'  a  slit  in  the  left."  Once  only  she 
had  journeyed  into  the  low  country,  where  she 
had  seen  those  twin  marvels,  steam  cars  and 
brick  chimneys.  On  this  occasion  she  had 
driven  a  heifer  to  market,  making  a  journey  of 
forty  miles,  walking  beside  her  horse  and  wagon, 
which  she  took  along  to  bring  back  the  corn-meal 
received  in  payment  for  the  animal.  Charged 
by  her  husband  to  bring  back  the  heifer  bell, 
and  being  denied  that  musical  instrument  by 
the  purchaser,  it  immediately  assumed  more 
importance  to  her  mind  than  horse,  wagon,  and 
corn-meal.  Baffled  at  first,  she  proceeded  to 
the  pasture  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  cornered 
the  cow  and  cut  off  the  bell,  and,  in  her  own 
picturesque  language,  "walked  through  the 
streets  of  Walhalla  cussin'."     Rising  at  mid-- 

293 


The  A.lventiires  of  Certain  Prisoners 

night  she  would  fall  to  spinning  with  all  her 
energy.  To  us,  waked  from  sleep  on  the  floor 
by  the  humming  of  the  wheel,  she  seemed  by 
the  light  of  the  low  fire  like  a  witch  in  a  sun- 
bonnet,  darting  forward  and  back. 

We  remained  there  several  days,  sometimes 
at  the  cabin  and  sometimes  at  a  cavern  in  the 
rocks  such  as  abound  throughout  the  mountains, 
and  which  are  called  by  the  natives  "  rock 
houses."  Many  of  the  men  at  that  time  were 
"  outliers  " — that  is,  they  camped  in  the  moun- 
tain fastnesses,  receiving  their  food  from  some 
member  of  the  family.  Some  of  these  men,  as 
now,  had  their  copper  stills  in  the  rock  houses, 
while  others,  more  wary  of  the  recruiting  ser- 
geant, wandered  from  point  to  point,  their 
only  furniture  a  rifle  and  a  bedquilt.  On  De- 
cember 29th,  we  were  joined  at  the  cavern  by 
Lieutenant  Knapp  and  Captain  Smith,  Federal 
officers,  who  had  also  made  their  way  from 
Columbia,  and  by  three  refugees  from  Georgia, 
whom  I  remember  as  Old  Man  Tigue  and  the 
two  Vincent  boys.  During  the  night  our  party 
was  to  start  acro.ss  the  mountains  for  Tennessee. 
Tom  Handcock  was  momentarily  expected  to 
join  us.  Our  guide  was  busy  with  preparations 
for  the  journey.  The  night  coming  on  icy 
cold,  and  a  cutting  wind  driving  the  smoke  of 

294 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

the  fire  into  our  granite  house,  we  abandoned  it 
at  nine  o'clock  and  descended  to  the  cabin. 
Headen  and  his  wife  had  gone  to  the  mill  for  a 
supply  of  corn-meal.  Although  it  was  time  for 
their  return,  we  were  in  no  wise  alarmed  by 
their  absence,  and  formed  a  jovial  circle  about 
the  roaring  chimney.  About  midnight  came  a 
rap  on  the  door.  Thinking  it  was  Tom  Hand- 
cock  and  some  of  his  companions,  I  threw  it 
open  with  an  eager  "  Come  in,  boys  !  "  The 
boys  began  to  come  in,  stamping  the  snow  from 
their  boots  and  rattling  their  muskets  on  the 
floor,  until  the  house  was  full,  and  yet  others 
were  on  guard  without  and  crowding  the  porch. 
"Man  Heady"  and  his  wife  were  already 
prisoners  at  the  mill,  and  the  house  had  been 
picketed  for  some  hours  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
the  other  refugees,  who  had  discovered  the  plot 
just  in  time  to  keep  out  of  the  toils.  Marshalled 
in  some  semblance  of  military  array,  we  were 
marched  down  the  mountain,  over  the  frozen 
ground,  to  the  house  of  old  Roderic  Norton. 
The  Yankee  officers  were  sent  to  an  upper 
room,  while  the  refugees  were  guarded  below, 
under  the  immediate  eyes  of  the  soldiery. 
Making  the  best  of  our  misfortune,  our  original 
trio  bounced  promptly  into  a  warm  bed,  which 
had  been  recently  deserted  by  some  mem- 
295 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


bers  of  the  family,  and  secured  a  good  night's 
rest. 

Lieutenant  Knapp,  wlio  had  imprudently  in- 
dulged in  frozen  chestnuts  on  the  mountain 
side,  was  attacked  with  violent  cramps,  and  kept 
the  household  below  stairs  in  commotion  all 
night  humanely  endeavoring  to  assuage  his 
agony.  In  the  morning,  although  quite  re- 
covered, he  cunningly  feigned  a  continuance 
oi  his  pains,  and  was  let^t  behind  in  the  keep- 
ing of  two  guards,  who  having  no  suspicion  of 
his  deep  designs  left  their  guns  in  the  house 
and  went  out  to  the  spring  to  wash.  Knapp, 
instantly  on  the  alert,  possessed  himself  of  the 
muskets,  and  breaking  the  lock  of  one,  by  a 
powerful  effort  he  bent  the  barrel  of  the  other, 
and  dashed  out  through  the  garden.  His  keep- 
ers, returning  from  the  spring,  shouted  and 
rushed  indoors  only  to  find  their  disabled  pieces. 
They  joined  our  party  later  in  the  day,  render- 
ing a  chapfallen  account  of  their  detached  ser- 
vice. 

We  had  but  a  moderate  march  to  make  to 
the  headquarters  of  the  battalion,  where  we 
were  to  spend  the  night.  Our  guards  we  found 
kindly  disposed  toward  us,  but  bitterly  up- 
braiding the  refugees,  whom  they  saluted  by 
the  ancient  name  of  Tories.  Lieutenant  Cog- 
296 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


dill,  in  command  of  the  expedition,  privately 
informed  us  that  his  sympathies  were  entirely 
ours,  but  as  a  matter  of  duty  he  should  guard 
us  jealously  while  under  his  military  charge. 
If  we  could  effect  our  escape  thereafter  we  had 
only  to  come  to  his  mountain  home  and  he 
would  conceal  us  until  such  time  as  he  could 
despatch  us  with  safety  over  the  borders.  These 
mountain  soldiers  were  mostly  of  two  classes, 
both  opposed  to  the  war,  but  doing  home-guard 
duty  in  lieu  of  sterner  service  in  the  field. 
Numbers  were  of  the  outlier  class,  who,  wearied 
of  continual  hiding  in  the  laurel  brakes,  had 
embraced  this  service  as  a  compromise.  Many 
were  deserters,  some  of  whom  had  coolly  set  at 
defiance  the  terms  of  their  furloughs,  while 
others  had  abandoned  the  camps  in  Virginia, 
and,  versed  in  mountain  craft,  had  made  their 
way  along  the  Blue  Ridge  and  put  in  a  heroic 
appearance  in  their  native  valleys. 

That  night  we  arrived  at  a  farm-house  near 
the  river,  where  we  found  Major  Parker,  com- 
manding the  battalion,  with  a  small  detach- 
ment, billeted  upon  the  family.  The  farmer 
was  a  gray-haired  old  loyalist,  whom  I  shall 
always  remember,  leaning  on  his  staff  in  the 
middle  of  the  kitchen,  barred  out  from  his 
place  in  the  chimney-corner  by  the  noisy  circle 
297 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

of  his  unbidden  guests.  Major  Parker  was  a 
brisk  little  man,  clad  in  brindle  jeans  of  an 
ancient  cut,  resplendent  with  brass  buttons. 
Two  small  piercing  eyes,  deep-set  beside  a 
hawk's-beak  nose,  twinkled  from  under  the  rim 
of  his  brown  straw  hat,  whose  crown  was  de- 
fiantly surmounted  by  a  cock's  feather.  But 
he  was  exceedingly  jolly  \v'ithal  and  welcomed 
the  Yankees  with  pompous  good  -  humor,  de- 
spatching a  sergeant  for  a  jug  of  apple-jack, 
which  was  doubtless  as  inexpensive  to  the  ma- 
jor as  his  other  hospitality.  Having  been  a 
prisoner  at  Chicago,  he  prided  himself  on  his 
knowledge  of  dungeon  etiquette  and  the  mil- 
itary courtesies  due  to  our  rank. 

We  were  awakened  in  the  morning  by  high- 
pitched  voices  in  the  room  below.  Lieutenant 
Sill  and  I  had  passed  the  night  in  neighboring 
caverns  of  the  same  miraculous  feather-bed. 
We  recognized  the  voice  of  the  major,  inform- 
ing some  culprit  that  he  had  just  ten  minutes 
to  live,  and  that  if  lie  wished  to  send  any  dying 
message  to  his  wife  or  children  then  and  there 
was  his  last  opportunity ;  and  then  followed 
the  tramping  of  the  guards  as  they  retired  from 
his  presence  with  their  victim.  Hastily  dress- 
ing, we  hurried  down  to  find  what  was  the 
matter.  We  were  welcomed  with  a  cheery 
298 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

good-morning  from  the  major,  who  seemed  to 
be  in  the  sunniest  of  spirits.  No  sign  of  com- 
motion was  visible.  "  Step  out  to  the  branch, 
gentlemen  ;  j^our  parole  of  honor  is  sufficient ; 
you'll  find  towels — been  a  prisoner  myself." 
And  he  restrained  by  a  sign  the  sentinel  who 
would  have  accompanied  us.  At  the  branch, 
in  the  yard,  we  found  the  other  refugees  trem- 
bling for  their  fate,  and  learned  that  Headen 
had  gone  to  the  orchard  in  the  charge  of  a  file 
of  soldiers  with  a  rope.  While  we  were  discuss- 
ing the  situation  and  endeavoring  to  calm  the 
apprehensions  of  the  Georgians  the  executioners 
returned  from  the  orchard,  our  guide  marching 
in  advance  and  looking  none  the  worse  for  the 
rough  handling  he  had  undergone.  The  brave 
fellow  had  confided  his  last  message  and  been 
thrice  drawn  up  toward  the  branch  of  an  apple 
tree,  and  as  many  times  lowered  for  the  infor- 
mation it  was  supposed  he  would  give.  No- 
thing was  learned,  and  it  is  probable  he  had  no 
secrets  to  disclose  or  conceal. 

Lieutenant  Cogdill,  with  two  soldiers,  was 
detailed  to  conduct  us  to  Quallatown,  a  Che- 
rokee station  at  the  foot  of  the  Great  Smoky 
Mountains.  Two  horses  were  allotted  to  the 
guard,  and  we  set  out  in  military  order,  the  re- 
fugees two   and   two  in  advance,  Headen  and 

299 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


Old  Man  Tigue  lashed  together  by  the  wrists, 
and  the  rear  brought  up  by  the  troopers  on 
horseback.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  year, 
and  although  a  winter  morning,  the  rare  moun- 
tain air  was  as  soft  as  spring.  We  struck  the 
banks  of  the  Tuckasegee  directly  opposite  to  a 
feathery  waterfall,  which,  leaping  over  a  crag 
of  the  opposite  cliff,  was  dissipated  in  a  glitter- 
ing sheet  of  spray  before  reaching  the  tops  of 
the  trees  below.  As  the  morning  advanced  we 
fell  into  a  more  negligent  order  of  marching. 
The  beautiful  river,  a  wide,  swift  current,  flow- 
ing smoothly  between  thickly  wooded  banks, 
swept  by  on  our  left,  and  on  the  right  wild, 
uninhabited  mountains  closed  in  the  road. 
The  two  Vincents  were  strolling  along  far  in 
advance.  Some  distance  behind  them  were 
Headen  and  Tigue  ;  the  remainder  of  us  fol- 
lowing in  a  general  group,  Sill  mounted  beside 
one  of  the  guards.  Advancing  in  this  order, 
a  cry  from  the  front  broke  on  the  stillness  of 
the  woods,  and  we  beheld  Old  Man  Tigue 
gesticulating  wildly  in  the  centre  of  the  road 
and  screaming,  ''He  's  gone!  He  's  gone! 
Catch  him  !  "  Sure  enough  the  old  man  was 
alone,  the  fragment  of  the  parted  strap  dan- 
gling from  his  outstretched  wrist.  The  guard, 
who  was  mounted,  dashed  off  in   pursuit,  fol- 

300 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


lowed  by  the  lieutenant  on  foot,  but  both  soon 

returned,  giving  over  the  hopeless  chase. 
Thoroughly  frightened  by  the  events  of  the 
morning,  Headen  ^  had  watched  his  oppor- 
tunity to  make  good  his  escape,  and  as  we  after- 
ward learned,  joined  by  Knapp  and  Tom  Hand- 
cock,  he  conducted  a  party  safely  to  Tennessee. 
At  Webster,  the  court  town  of  Jackson 
County,  we  were  quartered  for  the  night  in  the 
jail,  but  accompanied  Lieutenant  Cogdill  to  a 
venison  breakfast  at  the  parsonage  with  Mrs. 
Harris  and  her  daughter,  who  had  called  on  us 
the  evening  before.  Snow  had  fallen  during 
the  night,  and  when  we  continued  our  march  it 
was  with  the  half-frozen  slush  crushing  in  and 
out,  at  every  step,  through  our  broken  shoes. 
Before  the  close  of  this  dreary  New  Year's  day 
we  came  upon  the  scene  of  one  of  those  wild 
tragedies  which  are  still  of  too  frequent  occur- 
rence in  those  remote  regions,  isolated  from  the 
strong  arm  of  the  law.  Our  road  led  down  and 
around  the  mountain  side,  which  on  our  right 
was  a  barren,  rocky  waste,  sloping  gradually  up 

'  A  short  time  ago  the  writer  received  the  following 
letter:  "  Casher's  Valley,  May  28,  1890.  Old  Manuel 
Headen  and  wife  are  living,  but  separated.  Julia  Ann  is 
living  with  her  mother.  The  old  lady  is  blind.  Old  man 
Norton  (Roderic),  to  whose  house  you  were  taken  as 
prisoner,  has  been  dead  for  years.  Old  Tom  Handcock 
is  dead.— W.  R.  Hooper." 

301 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


from  the  inner  curve  of  the  arc  we  were  describ- 
ing. From  this  direction  arose  a  low  wailing 
sound,  and  a  little  farther  on  we  came  in  view 
of  a  dismal  group  of  men,  women,  and  mules. 
In  the  centre  of  the  gathering  lay  the  lifeless 
remains  of  a  father  and  his  two  sons ;  seated 
upon  the  ground,  swaying  and  weeping  over 
their  dead,  were  the  mother  and  wives  of  the 
young  men.  A  burial  party,  armed  with  spades 
and  picks,  waited  by  their  mules,  while  at  a  re- 
spectful distance  from  the  mourners  stood  a  cir- 
cle of  neighbors  and  passers-by,  some  gazing  in 
silent  sympathy,  and  others  not  hesitating  to 
express  a  quiet  approval  of  the  shocking  trag- 
edy. Between  two  families,  the  Hoopers  and 
the  Watsons,  a  bitter  feud  had  long  existed,  and 
from  time  to  time  men  of  each  clan  had  fallen 
by  the  rifles  of  the  other.  The  Hoopers  were 
loyal  Union  men,  and  if  the  Watsons  yielded 
any  loyalty  it  was  to  the  State  of  North  Caro- 
lina. On  one  occasion  shortly  before  the  final 
tragedy,  when  one  of  the  young  Hoopers  was 
sitting  quietly  in  his  door,  a  light  puff  of  smoke 
rose  from  the  bushes  and  a  rifle  ball  ploughed 
through  his  leg.  The  Hoopers  resolved  to 
begin  the  new  year  by  wiping  out  their  ene- 
mies, root  and  branch.  Before  light  they  had 
surrounded  the  log  cabin  of  the  Watsons  and 
302 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

secured  all  the  male  inmates,  except  one  who, 
wounded,  escaped  through  a  window.  The 
latter  afterward  executed  a  singular  revenge,  by 
killing  and  skinning  the  dog  of  his  enemies  and 
elevating  the  carcass  on  a  pole  in  front  of  their 
house. 

After  a  brief  stay  at  Quallatown  we  set  out  for 
Asheville,  leaving  behind  our  old  and  friendly 
guard.  Besides  the  soldiers  who  now  had  us  in 
charge,  a  Cherokee  Indian  was  allotted  to  each 
prisoner,  with  instructions  to  keep  his  man  con- 
stantly in  view.  To  travel  with  an  armed  In- 
dian, sullen  and  silent,  trotting  at  your  heels 
like  a  dog,  with  very  explicit  instructions  to 
blow  out  your  brains  at  the  first  attempt  to  es- 
cape, is  neither  cheerful  nor  ornamental,  and 
we  were  a  sorry-looking  party  plodding  silently 
along  the  road.  Detachments  of  prisoners  were 
frequently  passed  over  this  route,  and  regular 
stopping-places  were  established  for  the  nights. 
It  was  growing  dusk  when  we  arrived  at  the  first 
cantonment,  which  was  the  wing  of  a  great  bar- 
ren farm-house  owned  by  Colonel  Bryson.  The 
place  was  already  occupied  by  a  party  of  refu- 
gees, and  we  were  directed  to  a  barn  in  the  field 
beyond.  We  had  brought  with  us  uncooked 
rations,  and  while  two  of  the  soldiers  went  into 
the  house  for  cooking  utensils,  the  rest  of  the 

303 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


party,  including  the  Indians,  were  leaning  in  a 
line  upon  the  dooryard  fence;  Sill  and  Lamson 
were  at  the  end  of  the  line,  where  the  fence 
cornered  with  a  hedge.  Presently  the  two 
soldiers  reappeared,  one  of  them  with  an  iron 
pot  in  which  to  cook  our  meat,  and  the  other 
swinging  in  his  hand  a  burning  brand.  In  the 
wake  of  these  guides  we  followed  down  to  the 
barn,  and  had  already  started  a  fire  when  word 
came  from  the  house  that  for  fear  of  rain  we  had 
best  return  to  the  corn-barn.  It  was  not  until 
we  were  again  in  the  road  that  I  noticed  the  ab- 
sence of  Sill  and  Lamson.  I  hastened  to  Smith 
and  confided  the  good  news.  The  fugitives 
were  missed  almost  simultaneously  by  the  guards, 
who  first  beat  up  the  vicinity  of  the  barn,  and 
then,  after  securing  the  remainder  of  us  in  a 
corn  -  crib,  sent  out  the  Indians  in  pursuit. 
Faithful  dogs,  as  these  Cherokees  had  shown 
themselves  during  the  day,  they  proved  but 
poor  hunters  when  the  game  was  in  the  bush, 
and  soon  returned,  giving  over  the  chase.  Half 
an  hour  later  they  were  all  back  in  camp,  bak- 
ing their  hoecake  in  genuine  aboriginal  fashion, 
flattened  on  the  surface  of  a  board  and  inclined 
to  the  heat  of  the  fire.' 

1  Sill  and  Lamson  reached  Loudon,  Tenn.,  in  February. 
A  few  days  after  their  escape  from  the  Indian  guard  they 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

That  I  was  eager  to  follow  goes  without  say- 
ing, but  our  keepers  had  learned  our  slippery 
character.  All  the  way  to  Asheville,  day  and 
night,  we  were  watched  with  sleepless  vigilance. 
There  we  gave  our  parole.  Smith  and  I,  and  se- 
cured thereby  comfortable  quarters  in  the  court- 
house, with  freedom  to  stroll  about  the  town. 
Old  Man  Tigue  and  the  Vincents  were  com- 
mitted to  the  county  jail.  We  were  there  a 
week,  part  of  my  spare  time  being  employed  in 
helping  a  Confederate  company  officer  make  out 
a  correct  pay-roll. 

When  our  diminished  ranks  had  been  recruit- 
ed by  four  more  officers  from  Columbia,  who 
had  been  captured  near  the  frozen  summit  of 
the  Great  Smoky  Mountains,  we  were  started 
on  a  journey  of  sixty  miles  to  Greenville  in 
South  Carolina.  The  night  before  our  arrival 
we  were  quartered  at  a  large  farm-house.     The 

arrived  at  the  house  of  "  Shooting  John  Brown,"  who  con- 
fided them  to  the  care  of  the  young  Hoopers  and  a  party 
of  their  outlying  companions.  From  a  roclcy  cHff  over- 
looking the  valley  of  the  Tuckasegee  they  could  look  down 
on  the  river  roads  dotted  with  the  sheriff's  posse  in  pursuit 
of  the  Hoopers.  So  near  were  they  that  they  could  distin- 
guish a  relative  of  the  Watsons  leading  the  sheriff's  party. 
One  of  the  Hooper  boys,  with  characteristic  recklessness 
and  to  the  consternation  of  the  others,  stood  boldly  out 
on  a  great  rock  in  plain  sight  of  his  pursuers  (if  they  had 
chanced  to  look  up),  half  resolved  to  try  his  rifle  at  the  last 
of  the  Watsons. 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


prisoners,  together  with  the  privates  of  the 
guard,  were  allotted  a  comfortable  room,  which 
contained,  however,  but  a  single  bed.  The 
officer  in  charge  had  retired  to  enjoy  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  family.  A  flock  of  enormous  white 
pullets  were  roosting  in  the  yard.  Procuring 
an  iron  kettle  from  the  servants,  who  looked 
with  grinning  approval  upon  all  forms  of  chicken 
stealing,  we  sallied  forth  to  the  capture.  Twist- 
ing the  precious  necks  of  half  a  dozen,  we  left 
them  to  die  in  the  grass  while  we  pierced  the 
side  of  a  sweet-potato  mound.  Loaded  with 
our  booty  we  retreated  to  the  house  undis- 
covered, and  spent  the  night  in  cooking  in  one 
pot  instead  of  sleeping  in  one  bed.  The  fowls 
were  skinned  instead  of  plucked,  and,  vandals 
that  we  were,  dressed  on  the  backs  of  the  pict- 
ure frames,  taken  down  from  the  walls. 

At  Greenville  we  were  lodged  in  the  county 
jail  to  await  the  reconstruction  of  railway  bridges, 
when  we  were  to  be  transported  to  Columbia. 
The  jail  was  a  stone  structure,  two  stories  in 
height,  with  halls  through  the  centre  on  both 
floors  and  square  rooms  on  each  side.  The 
lock  was  turned  on  our  little  party  of  six  in  one 
of  these  upper  rooms,  having  two  grated  win- 
dows looking  down  on  the  walk.  Through  the 
door  which  opened  on  the  hall  a  square  hole 
306 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


was  cut  as  high  as  one's  face  and  large  enough 
to  admit  the  passage  of  a  plate.  Aside  from 
the  rigor  of  our  confinement  we  were  treated 
with  marked  kindness.  We  had  scarcely  walked 
about  our  dungeon  before  the  jailer's  daughters 
were  at  the  door  with  their  autograph  albums. 
In  a  few  days  we  were  playing  draughts  and 
reading  Bulwer,  while  the  girls,  without,  were 
preparing  oiu:  food  and  knitting  for  us  warm 
new  stockings.  Notwithstanding  all  these  at- 
tentions we  were  ungratefully  discontented.  At 
the  end  of  the  first  week  we  were  joined  by 
seven  enlisted  men,  Ohio  boys,  who  like  our- 
selves had  been  found  at  large  in  the  mountains. 
From  one  of  these  new  arrivals  we  procured  a 
case-knife  and  a  gun  screw-driver.  Down  on 
the  hearth  before  the  fire  the  screw-driver  was 
placed  on  the  thick  edge  of  the  knife,  and  be- 
labored with  a  beef-bone  until  a  few  inches  of 
its  back  were  converted  into  a  rude  saw.  The 
grate  in  the  window  was  formed  of  cast-iron 
bars,  passing  perpendicularly  through  wrought- 
iron  plates,  bedded  in  the  stone  jambs.  If  one 
of  these  perpendicular  bars,  an  inch  and  a  half 
square,  could  be  cut  through,  the  plates  might 
be  easily  bent  so  as  to  permit  the  egress  of  a 
man.  With  this  end  in  view  we  cautiously  be- 
gan operations.     Outside  of  the  bars  a  piece  of 

307 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


carpet  had  been  stretched  to  keep  out  the  raw 
wind,  and  behind  this  we  worked  with  safety. 
An  hour's  toil  produced  but  a  few  feathery  fil- 
ings on  the  horizontal  plate,  but  many  hands 
make  light  work,  and  steadily  the  cut  grew 
deeper.  We  recalled  the  adventures  of  Claude 
Duval,  Dick  Turpin,  and  Sixteen-string  Jack, 
and  sawed  away.  During  the  available  hours 
of  three  days  and  throughout  one  entire  night 
the  blade  of  steel  was  worrying,  rasping,  eating 
the  iron  bar.  At  last  the  grosser  yielded  to  the 
temper  and  persistence  of  the  finer  metal.  It 
was  Saturday  night  when  the  toilsome  cut  was 
completed,  and  preparations  were  already  under 
way  for  a  speedy  departure.  The  jail  had  al- 
ways been  regarded  as  too  secure  to  require  a 
military  guard,  although  soldiers  were  quartered 
in  the  town  ;  besides,  the  night  was  so  cold  that 
a  crust  had  formed  on  the  snow,  and  both  cit- 
izens and  soldiers,  unused  to  such  extreme 
weather,  would  be  likely  to  remain  indoors. 
For  greater  secrecy  of  movement,  we  divided 
into  small  parties,  aiming  to  traverse  different 
roads.  I  was  to  go  with  my  former  companion, 
Captain  Smith.  Lots  were  cast  to  determine 
the  order  of  our  going.  First  exit  was  allotted 
to  four  of  the  Ohio  soldiers.  Made  fast  to  the 
grating  outside  were  a  bit  of  rope  and  strip  of 
;o8 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

blankets,  along  which  to  descend.  Our  room 
was  immediately  over  that  of  the  jailer  and  his 
sleeping  family,  and  beneath  our  opening  was  a 
window,  which  each  man  must  pass  in  his  de- 
scent. At  eleven  o'clock  the  exodus  began. 
The  first  man  was  passed  through  the  bars  amid 
a  suppressed  buzz  of  whispered  cautions.  His 
boots  were  handed  after  him  in  a  haversack. 
The  rest  of  us,  pressing  our  faces  to  the  frosty 
grating,  listened  breathlessly  for  the  success  of 
the  movement  we  could  no  longer  see.  Sud- 
denly there  was  a  crash,  and  in  the  midst  of 
mutterings  of  anger  we  snatched  in  the  rag  lad- 
der and  restored  the  piece  of  carpeting  to  its 
place  outside  the  bars.  Our  pioneer  had  hurt 
his  hand  against  the  rough  stones,  and,  flound- 
ering in  mid-air,  had  dashed  his  leg  through 
sash  and  glass  of  the  window  below.  We  could 
see  nothing  of  his  further  movements,  but  soon 
discovered  the  jailer  standing  in  the  door,  look- 
ing up  and  down  the  street,  seemingly  in  the 
dark  as  to  where  the  crash  came  from.  At 
last,  wearied  and  worried  and  disappointed, 
we  lay  down  in  our  l;lankets  upon  the  hard 
floor. 

At  daylight  we  were  awakened  by  the  voice 
of  Miss  Emma  at  the  hole  in  the  door,  "  Who 
got  out  last  night?"      ''Welty."  "Well,   you 

309 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

was  fools  you  didn't  all  go  ;  pap  wouldn't  'a' 
stopped  you.  If  you'll  keep  the  break  con- 
cealed until  night  we'll  let  you  all  out."  The 
secret  of  the  extreme  kindness  of  our  keepers 
was  explained.  The  jailer,  a  loyalist,  retained 
his  position  as  a  civil  detail,  thus  protecting 
himself  and  sons  from  conscription.  Welty  had 
been  taken  in  the  night  before,  his  bruises  had 
been  anointed,  and  he  had  been  provisioned 
for  the  journey. 

We  spent  the  day  repairing  our  clothing  and 
preparing  for  the  road.  My  long-heeled  cow- 
hides, "  wife's  shoes,"  for  which  I  had  ex- 
changed a  uniform  waistcoat  with  a  cotton- 
wooled  old  darky  on  the  banks  of  the  Saluda, 
were  about  parting  soles  from  uppers,  and  I 
kept  the  twain  together  by  winding  my  feet 
with  stout  cords.  At  supper  an  extra  ration 
was  given  us.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark  the  old 
jailer  appeared  among  us  and  gave  us  a  minute 
description  of  the  different  roads  leading  west 
into  the  mountains,  warning  us  of  certain  dan- 
gers. At  eleven  o'clock  Miss  Emma  came  with 
the  great  keys,  and  we  followed  her,  in  single 
file,  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  back  yard 
of  the  jail.  From  the  broken  gratings  in  front, 
the  bit  of  rope  and  strips  of  blanket  were  left 
dangling  in  the  wind. 

310 


The  AiiveuliDes  of  Certain  Prisoners 


We  made  short  work  of  leave-taking,  Captain 
Smith  and  I  separating  immediately  from  the 
rest,  and  pushing  hurriedly  out  of  the  sleeping 
town,  by  back  streets,  into  the  bitter  cold  of  the 
country  roads.  We  stopped  once  to  warm  at 
the  pits  of  some  negro  charcoal  burjiers,  and 
before  day  dawned  had  travelled  sixteen  miles. 
We  found  a  sheltered  nook  on  the  side  of  the 
mountain  open  to  the  sun,  where  Ave  made  a 
bed  of  dry  leaves  and  remained  for  the  day. 
At  night  we  set  out  again,  due  west  by  the 
stars,  but  before  we  had  gone  far  my  companion, 
who  claimed  to  know  something  of  the  country, 
insisted  upon  going  to  the  left,  and  within  a 
mile  turned  into  another  left-hand  road.  I 
protested,  claiming  that  this  course  was  leading 
us  back.  While  we  were  yet  contending  we 
came  to  a  bridgeless  creek  whose  dark  waters 
barred  our  progress,  and  at  the  same  moment, 
as  if  induced  by  the  thought  of  the  fording,  the 
captain  was  seized  with  rheumatic  pains  in  his 
knees,  so  that  he  walked  with  difficulty.  'We 
had  just  passed  a  house  where  lights  were  still 
showing,  and  to  this  we  decided  to  return,  hop- 
ing at  least  to  find  shelter  for  Smith.  Leaving 
him  at  the  gate,  I  went  to  a  side  porch  and 
knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  a 
woman  who  proved  to  be  friendly  to  our  cause, 

3" 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

her  husband  being  in  the  rebel  army  much 
against  his  will.  We  were  soon  seated  to  the 
right  and  left  of  her  fireplace.  Blazing  pine- 
knots  brilliantly  lighted  the  room,  and  a  num- 
ber of  beds  lined  the  walls.  A  trundle-bed  be- 
fore the  fire  was  occupied  by  a  very  old  woman 
who  was  feebly  moaning  with  rheumatism. 
Our  hostess  shouted  into  the  old  lady's  ear, 
"Granny,  them's  Yankees."  "'Be  they!" 
said  she,  peering  at  us  with  her  poor  old  eyes. 
"Be  ye  sellin'  tablecloths?"  When  it  was 
explained  that  we  were  just  from  the  war,  she 
demanded,  in  an  absent  way,  to  know  if  we  were 
Britishers.  We  slept  in  one  of  the  comfortable 
beds,  and  as  a  measure  of  prudence  passed  the 
day  in  the  woods,  leaving  at  nightfall  with 
well-filled  haversacks.  Captain  Smith  was  again 
the  victim  of  his  rheumatism,  and  directing  me 
to  his  friends  at  Caesar's  Head,  where  I  was  to 
wait  for  him  until  Monday  (it  then  being  Tues- 
day), he  returned  to  the  house,  little  thinking 
that  we  were  separating  forever. 

I  travelled  very  rapidly  all  night,  hoping  to 
make  the  whole  distance,  but  day  was  breaking 
when  I  reached  the  head  waters  of  the  Saluda. 
Following  up  the  stream  I  found  a  dam  on  which 
I  crossed,  and  although  the  sun  was  rising  and 
the  voices  of  children  mingled  with  the  lowing 

31- 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


of  cattle  in  the  frosty  air,  I  ran  across  the 
fields  and  gained  a  secure  hiding-place  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  It  was  a  long,  solitary 
day,  and  glad  was  I  when  it  grew  sufficiently 
dark  to  turn  the  little  settlement  and  get  into 
the  main  road  up  the  mountain.  It  was  six 
zigzag  miles  to  the  top,  the  road  turning  on  log 
abutments,  well  anchored  with  stones,  and  not 
a  habitation  on  the  way  until  I  should  reach 
Bishop's  house,  on  the  crest  of  the  divide. 
Half  way  up  I  paused  before  a  big  summer  ho- 
tel, looming  up  in  the  woods  like  the  ghost  of  a 
deserted  factory,  its  broken  windov.'s  and  rot- 
ting gateways  redoubling  the  solitude  of  the 
bleak  mountain  side.  Shortly  before  reaching 
Bishop's,  "  wife's  shoes  "  became  quite  unman- 
ageable. One  had  climbed  up  my  leg  half  way 
to  the  knee,  and  I  knocked  at  the  door  with 
the  wreck  of  the  other  in  my  hand.  My  visit 
had  been  preceded  but  a  day  by  a  squad  of  part- 
isan raiders,  who  had  carried  away  the  bedding 
and  driven  off  the  cattle  of  my  new  friends,  and 
for  this  reason  the  most  generous  hospitality 
could  offer  no  better  couch  than  the  hard  floor. 
Stretched  thereon  in  close  proximity  to  the  dy- 
ing fire,  the  cold  air  coming  up  through  the 
wide  cracks  between  the  hewn  planks  seemed  to 
be  cutting  me  in  sections  as  with  icy  saws,   so 

313 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

that  I  was  forced  to  establish  myself  lengthwise 
of  a  broad  puncheon  at  the  side  of  the  room 
and  under  the  table. 

In  this  family  "  the  gray  mare  was  the  better 
horse,"  and  poor  Bishop,  an  inoffensive  man, 
and  a  cripple  withal,  was  wedded  to  a  regular 
Xantippe.  It  was  evident  that  unpleasant 
thoughts  were  dominant  in  the  woman's  mind 
as  she  proceeded  sullenly  and  vigorously  with 
preparations  for  breakfast.  The  bitter  bread  of 
charity  was  being  prepared  with  a  vengeance 
for  the  unwelcome  guest.  Premonitions  of  the 
coming  storm  flashed  now  and  then  in  light- 
ning cuffs  on  the  ears  of  the  children,  or  crashed 
venomously  among  the  pottery  in  the  fireplace. 
At  last  the  repast  was  spread,  the  table  still 
standing  against  the  wall,  as  is  the  custom 
among  mountain  housewives.  The  good-nat- 
ured husband  now  advanced  cheerfully  to  lend 
a  hand  in  removing  it  into  the  middle  of  the 
room.  It  was  when  one  of  the  table  legs  over- 
turned the  swill-pail  that  the  long  pent-up 
storm  burst  in  a  torrent  of  invective.  The 
prospect  of  spending  several  days  here  was  a 
very  gloomy  outlook,  and  the  relief  was  great 
when  it  was  proposed  to  pay  a  visit  to  Neighbor 
Case,  whose  house  was  in  the  nearest  valley, 
and  with  whose  sons  Captain  Smith  had  lain 

314 


The  AJveiitnres  of  Certain  Prisoners 

in  concealment  for  some  weeks  on  a  former  vis- 
it to  the  mountains.  I  was  curious  to  see  his 
sons,  who  were  famous  outliers.  From  safe 
cover  they  delighted  to  pick  off  a  recruiting  of- 
ficer or  a  tax-in-kind  collector,  or  tumble  out 
of  their  saddles  the  last  drivers  of  a  wagon  train. 
These  lively  young  men  had  been  in  unusual 
demand  of  late  and  their  hiding-place  was  not 
known  even  to  the  faithful,  so  I  was  condemned 
to  the  society  of  an  outlier  of  a  less  picturesque 
variety.  Pink  Bishop  was  a  blacksmith,  and 
just  the  man  to  forge  me  a  set  of  shoes  from  the 
leather  Neighbor  Case  had  already  provided. 
The  little  still-shed,  concealed  from  the  road 
only  by  a  low  hill,  was  considered  an  unsafe 
harbor,  on  account  of  a  fresh  fall  of  snow  with 
its  sensibility  to  tell-tale  impressions.  So  we 
set  up  our  shoe  factory  in  a  deserted  cabin,  well 
back  on  the  mountain  and  just  astride  of  that 
imaginary  line  which  divides  the  Carolinas. 
From  the  fireplace  we  dug  away  the  cornstalks, 
heaping  the  displaced  bundles  against  broken 
windows  and  windy  cracks,  and  otherwise  se- 
cured our  retreat  against  irost  and  enemies. 
Then  ensued  three  days  of  primitive  shoemak- 
ing.  As  may  be  inferred,  the  shoes  made  no 
pretension  to  style.  I  sewed  the  short  seams  at 
the  sides  and  split   the  pegs  from  a  section   of 

315 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


seasoned  maple.  Rudely  constructed  as  these 
shoes  were  they  bore  their  wearer  triumphantly 
into  the  promised  land. 

I  restrained  my  eagerness  to  be  going  until 
Monday  night,  the  time  agreed  upon,  when,  my 
disabled  companion  not  putting  in  an  appear- 
ance, I  set  out  for  my  old  friend's  in  Casher's 
Valley.  I  got  safely  over  a  long  wooden  bridge 
within  half  a  mile  of  a  garrisoned  town.  I  left 
the  road,  and  turned,  as  I  believed,  away  from 
the  town,  but  I  was  absolutely  lost  in  the  dark- 
ness of  a  snow-storm,  and  forced  to  seek  counsel 
as  well  as  shelter,  in  this  plight  I  pressed  on 
toward  a  light,  glimmering  faintly  through  the 
blinding  snow.  It  led  me  into  the  shelter  of  the 
porch  to  a  small  brown  house,  cut  deeply  be- 
neath the  low  eaves  and  protected  at  the  sides 
by  flanking  bedrooms.  My  knock  was  answered 
by  a  girlish  voice,  and  from  the  ensuing  parley, 
through  the  closed  door,  I  learned  that  she  was 
the  daughter  of  a  Baptist  exhorter,  and  that 
she  was  alone  in  the  house,  her  brother  away  at 
the  village,  and  her  father,  having  preached  the 
day  before  at  some  distance,  was  not  expected 
home  until  the  next  morning.  Reassured  by 
my  civil-toned  inquiries  about  the  road,  she 
unfastened  the  door  and  came  out  to  the  porch, 
where  she  proceeded  to  instruct  me  how  to  go 
316 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


on,  which  was  just  the  thing  I  least  desired  to 
do.  By  this  time  I  had  discovered  the  political 
complexion  of  the  family,  and,  making  myself 
known,  was  instantly  invited  in,  with  the  as- 
surance that  her  father  would  be  gravely  dis- 
pleased if  she  permitted  me  to  go  on  before  he 
returned.  I  had  interrupted  my  little  benefac- 
tress in  the  act  of  writing  a  letter,  on  a  sheet  of 
foolscap,  which  lay  on  an  old-fashioned  stand 
in  one  corner  of  the  room  beside  the  ink-bottle 
and  the  candlestick.  In  the  diagonal  corner 
stood  a  tall  bookcase,  the  crowded  volumes 
nestling  lovingly  behind  the  glass  doors — the 
only  collection  of  the  sort  that  I  saw  at  any 
time  in  the  mountains.  A  feather-bed  was 
spread  upon  the  floor,  the  head  raised  by  means 
of  a  turned-down  chair,  and  here  I  was  repos- 
ing comfortably  when  the  brother  arrived.  It 
was  late  in  the  forenoon  when  the  minister 
reached  home,  his  rickety  wagon  creaking 
through  the  snow,  and  drawn  at  a  .snail's  pace 
by  a  long-furred,  knock-kneed  horse.  The  tall 
but  not  very  clerical  figure  was  wrapped  in  a 
shawl  and  swathed  round  the  throat  with  many 
turns  of  a  woollen  tippet.  The  daughter  ran 
out  with  eagerness  to  greet  her  father  and  tell 
of  the  wonderful  arrival.  I  was  received  with 
genuine  delight.     It  was    the    enthusiasm  of  a 

Z^7 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


patriot,  eager  to  find  a  sympathetic  ear  for  his 
long-repressed  views.  ^ 

When  night  came  and  no  entreaties  could 
j>revail  to  detain  me  over  another  day,  the 
minister  conducted  me  some  distance  in  per- 
son, passing  me  on  with  ample  directions  to 
another  exhorter,  who  was  located  for  that 
night  at  the  house  of  a  miller  who  kept  a  fero- 
cious dog.  I  came  first  to  the  pond  and  then 
to  the  mill,  and  got  into  the  house  without  en- 
countering the  dog.  Aware  of  the  necessity  of 
arriving  before  bedtime,  I  had  made  such 
speed  as  to  find  the  miller's  family  still  linger- 
ing about  the  fireplace  with  preacher  number 
two  seated  in  the  lay  circle.  That  night  I 
slept  with  the  parson,  who  sat  up  in  bed  in  the 
morning,  and  after  disencumbering  himself  of 
a  striped  extinguisher  nightcap  electrified  the 

'The  Rev.  James  H.  Duckworth,  now  postmaster  of 
Brevard,  Transylvania  County,  North  Carohna,  and  in 
1868  member  of  the  State  Constitutional  Convention,  in  his 
letter  of  June  24,  1890,  says:  "  I  have  not  forgotten  those 
things  of  which  you  speak.  I  can  almost  see  you  (even 
in  imagination)  standing  at  the  fire  when  I  drove  up  to  the 
gate  and  went  into  the  house  and  asked  you,  '  Have  I 
ever  seen  you  before  ?  '  Just  then  I  observed  your  uniform. 
'  Oh,  yes,'  said  I  ;  'I  know  who  it  is  now.'  .  .  .  This 
daughter  of  whom  you  speak  married  about  a  year  after, 
and  is  living  in  Morgantown,  North  Carolina,  about  one 
hundred  miles  from  here.  Hattie  (for  that  is  her  name) 
is  a  pious,  religious  woman.  " 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

other  sleepers  by  announcing  that  this  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  slept  with  a  Yankee. 
After  breakfast  the  parson,  armed  with  staff 
and  scrip,  signified  his  purpose  to  walk  with 
me  during  the  day,  as  it  was  no  longer  danger- 
ous to  move  by  daylight.  We  must  have  been 
travelling  the  regular  Baptist  road,  for  we 
lodged  that  night  at  the  house  of  another  lay 
brother.  The  minister  continued  with  me  a 
few  miles  in  the  morning,  intending  to  put  me 
in  the  company  of  a  man  who  was  going 
toward  Casher's  Valley  on  a  hunting  expedi- 
tion. When  we  reached  his  house,  however, 
the  hunter  had  gone  ;  so,  after  parting  with 
my  guide,  I  set  forward  through  the  woods, 
following  the  tracks  of  the  hunter's  horse.  The 
shoe-prints  were  sometimes  plainly  impressed 
in  the  snow,  and  again  for  long  distances  over 
dry  leaves  and  bare  ground,  but  an  occasional 
trace  could  be  found.  It  was  past  noon  when 
I  arrived  at  the  house  where  the  hunters  were 
assembled.  Quite  a  number  of  men  were 
gathered  in  and  about  the  porch,  just  returned 
from  the  chase.  Blinded  by  the  snow  over 
which  I  had  been  walking  in  the  glare  of  the 
sun,  I  blundered  up  the  steps,  inquiring  with- 
out much  tact  for  the  rider  who  had  preceded 
mc.  and  was  no  little  alarmed   at  receiving  a 

319 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

rude  and  gruff  reception.  I  continued  in  sus- 
pense for  some  time  until  my  man  found  an 
opportunity  to  inform  me  that  tliere  were  sus- 
picious persons  present,  tlius  accounting  for  his 
unexpected  manner.  The  exj^jlanation  was 
made  at  a  combination  meal,  serving  for  both 
dinner  and  supper,  and  consisting  exclusively 
of  beans.  I  set  out  at  twilight  to  make  a  walk 
of  thirteen  miles  to  the  house  of  our  old  friend 
Esquire  Hooper.  Eager  for  the  cordial  wel- 
come which  I  knew  awaited  me,  and  nerved  by 
the  frosty  air,  I  sped  over  the  level  wood-road, 
much  of  the  way  running  instead  of  walking. 
Three  times  I  came  upon  bends  of  the  same 
broad  rivulet.  Taking  off  my  shoes  and  stock- 
ings and  rolling  up  my  trousers  above  my 
knees,  I  tried  the  first  passage.  Flakes  of 
broken  ice  were  eddying  against  the  banks, 
and  before  gaining  the  middle  of  the  stream 
my  feet  and  ankles  ached  with  the  cold,  the 
sharp  pain  increasing  at  every  step  until  I 
threw  my  blanket  on  the  opposite  bank  and 
springing  upon  it  wrapped  my  feet  in  its  dry 
folds.  Rising  a  little  knoll  soon  after  making 
the  third  ford,  I  came  suddenly  upon  the  fa- 
miliar stopping-place  of  my  former  journey. 
It  was  scarcely  more  than  nine  o'clock,  and 
the  little  hardships  of  the  journey  from  Caesar's 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

Head  seemed  but  a  cheap  outlay  for  the  joy 
of  the  meeting  with  friends  so  interested  in  the 
varied  fortunes  of  myself  and  my  late  compan- 
ions. Together  we  rejoiced  at  the  escape  of 
Sill  and  Lamson,  and  made  merry  over  the  vi- 
cissitudes of  my  checkered  career.  Here  I 
first  learned  of  the  safe  arrival  in  Tennessee  of 
Knapp,  Man  Heady,  and  Old  Tom  Handcock. 
After  a  day's  rest  I  climbed  the  mountains 
to  the  Headen  cabin,  now  presided  over  by  the 
heroine  of  the  heifer  bell  in  the  absence  of  her 
fugitive  husband.  Saddling  her  horse,  she 
took  me  the  next  evening  to  join  a  lad  who 
was  about  starting  for  Shooting  Creek.  Young 
Green  was  awaiting  my  arrival,  and  after  a 
brief  delay  we  were  off  on  a  journey  of  some- 
thing like  sixty  miles ;  the  journey,  however, 
was  pushed  to  a  successful  termination  by  the 
help  of  information  gleaned  by  the  way.  It 
was  at  the  close  of  the  last  night's  march, 
which  had  been  long  and  uneventful,  except 
that  we  had  surmounted  no  fewer  than  three 
snow  -  capped  ridges,  that  my  blacksmith's 
shoes,  soaked  to  a  pulp  by  the  wet  snow,  gave 
out  altogether.  On  the  top  of  the  last  ridge  I 
found  myself  panting  in  the  yellow  light  of  the 
rising  sun,  the  sad  wrecks  of  my  two  shoes 
dangling  from  my  hands,  a  wilderness  of  beauty 

321 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


spread  out  before  me,  and  a  sparkling  field  of 
frosty  forms  beneath  my  tingling  feet.  Stretch- 
ing far  into  the  west  toward  the  open  country 
of  East  Tennessee  was  the  limitless  wilder- 
ness of  mountains  drawn  like  mighty  furrows 
across  the  toilsome  way,  the  pale  blue  of  the 
uttermost  ridges  fading  into  an  imperceptible 
union  with  the  sky.  A  log  house  was  in  sight 
down  in  the  valley,  a  perpendicular  column  of 
smoke  rising  from  its  single  chimney.  Toward 
this  we  picked  our  way,  I  in  my  stocking  feet, 
and  my  boy  guide  confidently  predicting  that 
we  should  find  the  required  cobbler.  Of  course 
we  found  him  in  a  country  where  every  family 
makes  its  own  shoes  as  much  as  its  own  bread, 
and  he  was  ready  to  serve  the  traveller  without 
pay.  Notwithstanding  our  night's  work,  we 
tarried  no  longer  than  for  the  necessary  repairs, 
and  just  before  sunset  we  looked  down  upon 
the  scattering  settlement  of  Shooting  Creek. 
Standing  on  the  bleak  brow  of  "  Chunky 
Gall  "  Mountain,  my  guide  recognized  the 
first  familiar  object  on  the  trip,  which  was  the 
roof  of  his  uncle's  house.  At  Shooting  Creek 
I  was  the  guest  of  the  Widow  Kitchen,  whose 
house  v/as  the  principal  one  in  the  settlement 
and  whose  estate  boasted  two  slaves.  The 
husband  had   fallen   by  an  anonymous   bullet 

322 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


while  salting  his  cattle  on  the  mountain  in  an 
early  year  of  the  war. 

On  the  day  following  my  arrival  I  was  con- 
ducted over  a  ridge  to  another  creek,  where  I 
met  two  professional  guides,  Quince  Edmon- 
ston  and  Mack  Hooper.  As  I  came  upon  the 
pair  parting  a  thicket  of  laurel,  with  their  long 
rifles  at  a  shoulder,  I  instantly  recognized  the 
coat  of  the  latter  as  the  snuff-colored  sack  in 
which  I  had  last  seen  Lieutenant  Lamson,  It 
had  been  given  to  the  man  at  Chattanooga, 
where  these  same  guides  had  conducted  my 
former  companions  in  safety  a  month  before. 
Quince  Edmonston,  the  elder,  had  led  nu- 
merous parties  of  Yankee  officers  over  the  Wa- 
cheesa  trail  for  a  consideration  of  a  hundred 
dollars,  pledged  to  be  paid  by  each  officer  at 
Chattanooga  or  Nashville. 

Two  other  officers  were  concealed  near  by, 
and  a  number  of  refugees,  awaiting  a  convoy, 
and  an  arrangement  was  rapidly  made  with  the 
guides.  The  swollen  condition  of  the  Valley 
River  made  it  necessary  to  remain  for  several 
days  at  Shooting  Creek  before  setting  out. 
Mack  and  I  were  staying  at  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Kitchen.  It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  a  mem- 
orable Friday,  the  rain  still  falling  in  torrents 
without,  that   I  sat  before  the  fire  poring  over 

3-3 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

a  small  Sunday-school  book  ;  the  only  printed 
book  in  the  house,  if  not  in  the  settlement. 
Mack  Hooper  was  sitting  by  the  door.  At- 
tracted by  a  rustling  sound  in  his  direction,  I 
looked  up  just  in  time  to  see  his  heels  disap- 
pearing under  the  nearest  bed.  Leaping  to  my 
feet  with  an  instinctive  impulse  to  do  likewise, 
I  was  confronted  in  the  doorway  by  a  stalwart 
Confederate  officer  fully  uniformed  and  armed. 
Behind  him  was  his  quartermaster  sergeant. 
This  was  a  Government  party  collecting  the 
tax-in-kind,  which  at  that  time  throughout  the 
Confederacy  was  the  tenth  part  of  all  crops  and 
other  farm  productions.  It  was  an  ugly  sur- 
prise. Seeing  no  escape,  I  ventured  a  remark 
on  the  weather  ;  only  a  stare  in  reply.  A  plan 
of  escape  flashed  through  my  mind  like  an  in- 
spiration. I  seated  myself  quietly,  and  for  an 
instant  bent  my  eyes  upon  the  printed  pages. 
The  two  soldiers  had  advanced  to  the  corner 
of  the  chimney  nearest  the  door,  inquiring  for 
the  head  of  the  family  and  keeping  their  eyes 
riveted  on  my  hostile  uniform.  At  this  junc- 
ture I  was  seized  with  a  severe  fit  of  coughing. 
With  one  hand  upon  my  chest,  I  walked  slowly 
past  the  men,  and  laid  my  carefully  opened 
book  face  down  upon  a  chest.  With  another 
step  or  two  I  was   in   the  porch,  and  bounding 

3^4 


The  Aifventiires  of  Certain  Prisoners 

into  the  kitchen  I  sprang  out  through  a  window 
already  opened  by  the  women  for  my  exit. 
Away  I  sped  bareheaded  through  the  pelting 
rain,  now  crashing  through  thick  underbrush, 
and  now  to  my  waist  in  swollen  streams,  plung- 
ing on  and  on,  only  mindful  to  select  a  course 
that  would  baffle  horsemen  in  pursuit.  After 
some  miles  of  running  I  took  cover  behind  a 
stack,  within  view  of  the  road  which  Mack 
must  take  in  retreating  to  the  other  settlement  ; 
and  sure  enough  here  he  was,  coming  down  the 
road  with  my  cap  and  haversack,  which  Avas 
already  loaded  for  the  western  journey.  Mack 
had  remained  undiscovered  under  the  bed,  an 
interested  listener  to  the  conversation  that  en- 
sued. The  officer  had  been  assured  that  I  was 
a  friendly  scout ;  but  convinced  of  the  contrary 
by  my  flight,  he  had  departed  swearing  he 
would  capture  that  Yankee  before  morning  if 
he  had  to  search  the  whole  settlement.  So 
alarmed  were  we  for  our  safety  that  we  crossed 
that  night  into  a  third  valley  and  slept  in  the 
loft  of  a  horse-barn. 

On  Sunday  our  expedition  assembled  on  a 
hillside  overlooking  Shooting  Creek,  where  our 
friends  in  the  secret  of  the  movement  came  up 
to  bid  us  adieu.  With  guides  we  were  a  party 
of  thirteen  or  fourteen,   but  only   three   of  us 

325 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

officers  who  were  to  pay  for  our  safe  conduct. 
Each  man  carried  his  supply  of  bread  and  meat 
and  bedding.  Some  were  wrapped  in  faded 
bedquilts  and  some  in  tattered  army  blankets ; 
nearly  all  wore  ragged  clothes,  broken  shoes, 
and  had  unkempt  beards.  We  arrived  upon  a 
mountain  side  overlooking  the  settlement  of 
Peach  Tree,  and  were  awaiting  the  friendly 
shades  of  night  under  which  to  descend  to  the 
house  of  the  man  who  was  to  put  us  across 
Valley  River.  Premature  darkness  was  ac- 
companied with  torrents  of  rain,  through  which 
we  followed  our  now  uncertain  guides.  At  last 
the  light  of  the  cabin  we  were  seeking  gleamed 
humidly  through  the  trees.  Most  of  the  family 
fled  into  the  outhouses  at  our  approach,  some 
of  them  not  reappearing  until  we  were  disposed 
for  sleep  in  a  half-circle  before  the  fire.  The 
last  arrival  were  two  tall  women  in  homespun 
dresses  and  calico  sun-bonnets.  They  slid 
timidly  in  at  the  door,  with  averted  faces,  and 
then  with  a  rush  and  a  bounce  covered  them- 
selves out  of  sight  in  a  bed,  where  they  had 
probably  been  sleeping  in  the  same  clothing 
when  we  approached  the  house.  Here  we 
learned  that  a  cavalcade  of  four  hundred  Texan 
Rangers  had  advanced  into  Tennessee  by  the 
roads  on  the  day  before.      Our  guides,  familiar 

326 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 

with  the  movements  of  these  dreaded  troopers, 
calculated  that  with  the  day's  delay  enforced 
by  the  state  of  the  river  a  blow  would  have 
been  struck  and  the  marauders  would  be  in  full 
retreat  before  we  should  arrive  on  the  ground. 
We  passed  that  day  concealed  in  a  stable,  and 
as  soon  as  it  was  sufficiently  dark  we  proceeded 
in  a  body  to  the  bank  of  the  river  attended  by 
a  man  and  a  horse.  The  stream  was  narrow, 
but  the  current  was  full  and  swift.  The  horse 
breasted  the  flood  with  difficulty,  but  he  bore 
us  all  across  one  at  a  time,  seated  behind  the 
farmer. 

We  had  now  left  behind  us  the  last  settle- 
ment, and  before  us  lay  only  wild  and  unin- 
habited mountains.  The  trail  we  travelled  was 
an  Indian  path  extending  for  nearly  seventy 
miles  through  an  uninhabited  wilderness.  In- 
stead of  crossing  the  ridges  it  follows  the  trend 
of  the  range,  winding  for  the  most  part  along 
the  crests  of  the  divides.  The  occasional  trav- 
eller having  once  mounted  to  its  level  pursues 
his  solitary  way  with  little  climbing. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  our 
little  party  was  assembled  upon  the  last  moun- 
tain overlooking  the  open  country  of  East 
Tennessee.  Some  of  us  had  been  wandering 
in   the  mountains   for  the  whole  winter.     We 

327 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


were  returning  to  a  half-forgotten  world  of 
farms  and  fences,  roads  and  railways.  Below 
us  stretched  the  Tellico  River  away  toward 
the  line  of  towns  marking  the  course  of  the 
Nashville  and  Chattanooga  Railroad.  One  of 
the  guides  who  had  ventured  down  to  the 
nearest  house  returned  with  information  that 
the  four  hundred  Texan  Rangers  had  burned 
the  depot  at  Philadelphia  Station  the  day  be- 
fore, but  were  now  thought  to  be  out  of  the 
country.  We  could  see  the  distant  smoke  aris- 
ing from  the  ruins.  Where  the  river  flowed 
out  of  the  mountains  were  extensive  iron- 
works, the  property  of  a  loyal  citizen,  and  in 
front  of  his  house  we  halted  for  consultation. 
He  regretted  that  we  had  shown  ourselves  so 
soon,  as  the  rear  guard  of  the  marauders  had 
passed  the  night  within  siglit  of  where  we  now 
stood.  Our  nearest  pickets  were  at  Loudon, 
thirty  miles  distant  on  the  railway,  and  for 
this  station  we  were  advised  to  make  all  speed. 
For  half  a  mile  the  road  ran  along  the  bank 
of  the  river  and  then  turned  around  a  wooded 
bluff  to  the  right.  Opposite  to  this  bluff  and 
accessible  by  a  shallow  ford  was  another  hill, 
where  it  was  feared  that  some  of  the  Rangers 
were  still  lingering  about  their  camp.  As  we 
came  to  the  turn  in  the  road  our  company  %vas 

328 


The  Adventures  of  Certain  Prisoners 


walking  rapidly  in  Indian  file,  guide  Edmon- 
ston  and  I  at  the  front.  Coming  around  the 
bluff  from  the  opposite  direction  was  a  coun- 
tryman mounted  on  a  powerful  gray  mare. 
His  overcoat  was  army  blue,  but  he  wore  a 
bristling  fur  cap,  and  his  rifle  was  slung  on  his 
back.  At  sight  of  us  he  turned  in  his  saddle 
to  shout  to  some  one  behind,  and  bringing  his 
gun  to  bear  came  tearing  and  swearing  down 
the  road,  spattering  the  gravel  under  the  big 
hoofs  of  the  gray.  Close  at  his  heels  rode  two 
officers  in  Confederate  gray  uniforms,  and  a 
motley  crowd  of  riders  closed  up  the  road  be- 
hind. In  an  instant  the  guide  and  I  were  sur- 
rounded, the  whole  cavalcade  levelling  their 
guns  at  the  thicket  and  calling  on  our  com- 
panions to  halt,  who  could  be  plainly  heard 
crashing  through  the  bushes.  The  dress  of 
but  few  of  our  captors  could  be  seen,  nearly 
all  being  covered  with  rubber  talmas,  but  their 
mounts,  including  mules  as  well  as  horses,  were 
equipped  with  every  variety  of  bridle  and  sad- 
dle to  be  imagined.  I  knew  at  a  glance  that 
this  was  no  body  of  our  cavalry.  If  we  were 
in  the  hands  of  the  Rangers  the  fate  of  the 
guides  and  refugees  would  be  the  hardest.  I 
thought  they  might  spare  the  lives  of  the  offi- 
cers.     "Who  are  you?     What  are  you  doing 

329 


The  AJvenltires  of  Certain  Prisoners 


here  ?  ' '  demanded  the  commander,  riding  up 
to  us  and  scrutinizing  our  rags.  I  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then,  throwing  off  the  blanket  I 
wore  over  my  shoulders,  simply  said,  "  You 
can  see  what  I  am."  My  rags  were  the  rags 
of  a  uniform,  and  spoke  for  themselves. 

Our  captors  proved  to  be  a  company  of  the 
2d  Ohio  Heavy  Artillery,  in  pursuit  of  the  ma- 
rauders into  whose  clutches  we  tliought  we  had 
fallen.  The  farmer  on  the  gray  mare  was  the 
guide  of  the  expedition,  and  the  two  men  uni- 
formed as  rebel  officers  were  Union  scouts. 
The  irreguler  equipment  of  the  animals,  which 
had  excited  my  suspicion  most,  as  well  as  the 
animals  themselves,  had  been  hastily  impressed 
from  the  country  about  the  village  of  Loudon, 
where  the  2d  Ohio  was  stationed.  On  the  fol- 
lowing evening,  which  was  the  4th  of  March, 
the  day  of  the  second  inauguration  of  Presi- 
dent Lincoln,  we  walked  into  Loudon  and 
gladly  surrendered  ourselves  to  the  outposts  of 
the  Ohio  Heavy  Artillery. 


330 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
978 


